Defining Love
by DB2020
Summary: Lost in time for seven years, Seifer returns to find Garden's pretty-boy champion fallen from grace for circumstances beyond his control. Squall leads a quiet life raising his son, but the unexpected return of the boy's other father creates chaos.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VIII or the characters from the game, nor do I financially profit from writing this work of fiction.

Warning: This story contains adult themes, graphic situations, and swearing. There is a theme of male pregnancy, Squall being the one who had the baby. I am not committed to keeping Squall exclusively with Seifer during every romantic exchange, so diehard Seifer/Squall fans beware, because Squall will be locking lips with another man at times.

**ALERT: I recently discovered that the line breaks I used to mark scene changes aren't showing up anymore (I don't know why, since they used to show up without any issues). I'm in the process of re-posting each chapter (and have resorting to using letters to mark scene changes, which is distracting, but nothing else was working. Every upload just removed the different line breaks I put in). Because of this, if you read a chapter without line breaks, I'm sorry since it's probably really confusiong to have the sudden scene change without warning. It's being fixed.**

Defining Love

Chapter One

It was very difficult for Seifer Almasy to accept that he could suffer from physical ailments in the afterlife. Then again, maybe that's what Hell was all about.

For a long time he remained motionless, sprawled out on the cold ground. The deafening sound of rain splattering against what he could feel was concrete filled his ears. The torrents of water had long since soaked his beaten clothes, numbing his skin and then slowly spreading the coldness deeper.

He couldn't help but wonder just how badly he'd fucked up. There was a frightening sense of life in his body, refuting his assumptions of being dead. He'd been wandering aimlessly without a clue how to set things right or reach a world that wasn't turned upside down, and his mind logically concluded that he couldn't possibly be alive.

Time compression was an intimidating process, more so in action than theory. His initial panic and desperation had left long ago, replaced by a coolheaded calmness and determination to just keep trying. However, that middle area of being calm and confident was all too soon replaced by defeat, the firm belief that he'd never find a way back home and was doomed to wander aimlessly for all eternity.

Slowly, he opened his eyes. Given the intensity of the downpour, he was surprised at the brightness of the sky. While thick clouds of grayish white made it impossible to even tell where the sun was, it was still too bright for his eyes to handle.

Squinting, he raised an arm to drape over his face. He was beginning to shiver. He knew he should move, but the fact that he was still breathing and his heart was still pounding hadn't settled in completely. He still needed time to grasp the concept, and then worry about what came next.

The blond knight's thoughts were interrupted by the sudden lack of rain hitting his body. Though he could hear that it was still coming down heavy, it wasn't falling on him. The distinct sound of pellets hitting the stretched waterproof fabric over the wire frame of an umbrella stood out from the sound of rain hitting the ground.

Reacting instinctively, thinking that perhaps he was in Hell where he'd meet all his enemies, he rolled away. Though his hand went to his hip for Hyperion, it flexed around air and nothing more. His blade was not with him, and hadn't been since his last encounter with Ultimecia, but he was trained to react with the assumption of always having his weapon on hand.

"Easy," drawled an unfamiliar voice, smooth as silk but still irritating to his particular mood at the moment.

Jade green eyes narrowed with the intent of using his bare hands to snap the speaker's neck. Seifer focused on the stranger. He first noted the long shotgun that could have easily taken him out before he even registered footsteps approaching, which he was slightly angry at not having done anyway. Holding a black umbrella, the source of the rain's barrier moments ago, was a lanky man with wavy auburn hair. The oddly colored eyes that watched him intently captured him for a moment longer than necessary.

"I'm Irvine Kinneas," the newcomer greeted. "I'm not looking for a fight. I'm just the welcome wagon."

Sneering, Seifer straightened up, hardly caring that he was unarmed and this Irvine Kinneas had a long ranged weapon on hand. It was another few seconds before it finally registered that he'd seen the pretty boy somewhere before.

Glancing up and down the gunman's frame, he mentally replaced the black suit with something more casual and wholly bazaar. "Cowboy," he muttered after a moment of concentration.

Making as if to tip his absent hat, Irvine smirked. "I'm honored you remember. We haven't officially met." His words were soothing in their calmness, as if he were the last person to ever pose a threat.

Gaze narrowing further, Seifer reminded himself that it was probably intentional. If he didn't know any better, he'd have thought that tone of disarming calmness was the charm of a sorceress. "Where the fuck am I and why do I get the impression that you knew I'd be here?"

Bowing his head ever so slightly, Irvine was quick to answer, "We are in Esthar, at the Sorceress Memorial. I didn't know for certain whether you'd be here, seeing as the last five tries turned out to be wrong, but Dr. Odine predicted your return."

"Details," the blond ordered.

"It's raining, we really should get some place drier."

"Fuck that," Seifer hissed. "What's going on?"

"Time compression," the gunman stated simply. "I can explain more as we walk. Sooner or later you have to go somewhere, let's make it sooner."

"Lead the way," Seifer said, refusing to close the distance between them and needing some gesture of peace, such as the gunman's trust with a turned back.

HIH-

Mildly drier and significantly warmer, Seifer stared out the passenger side window of the sleek Torama Cruiser. With patience, he listened to the driving gunman, soaking up the words with forced discipline. The constant whir of the windshield wipers dancing back and forth was soothing, filling the awkward moments of silence that were allotted to let him cope with everything.

"Seven years since the end of the Second Sorceress War, and since you were last in our time."

Having gone through becoming a knight and traveling through time, Seifer was hardly surprised at the end result. Still, he wouldn't be spoon fed anything without question. "There were weird places, like deserts surrounded by some sort of bubble… different dimensions, I think. I don't know how long I was walking through them, but it sure as hell wasn't seven Hyne damned years."

"Different dimensions," Irvine mumbled to himself in thought. "I'm not the theorist here, so I don't know much. Still, considering you might have been wandering through time, it wouldn't be surprising if seven years went by here and you were only walking around for seven days."

"It was a lot longer than a week," the blond returned with a weary sigh.

"You look older than when I last saw you," Irvine stated with a laid back air as if they were discussing the weather.

Solemnly, Seifer fingered his shaggy hair. He'd first noticed when toweling it dry. "I know," he muttered, becoming a little angry. He wanted a mirror to make sure he hadn't become some old man and lost his youthful good looks. While he only played a narcissist, he still didn't want to suddenly find out that the prime years of his life had been stripped away. Death would have been better.

Making it to the city's border, Irvine shifted to settle in his seat more comfortably. "Becoming lost was a consequence we were prepared for. It was a matter of focusing on a specific point of return, and then just leaving it up to the process to sort us out and know to place us in the correct time. You, being the traitor, were not informed of this."

Seifer bristled at being called a traitor. "Let's have it out now cowboy. You wanna string me up for a hanging in all this?"

Chuckling, Irvine shook his head. "No, the world has moved on since the war. I'm just calling it like it is. You became Ultimecia's knight, own up to the title."

"Fuck off," the blond hissed. "Get to the damn point already."

"Certainly." Casting a glance to the side, he met striking green eyes and smirked. "Squall was lost too, but Rinoa managed to retrieve him easily enough. We'd honestly counted you as a lost cause, having no way of finding you unless Rinoa learned to control her powers and had another stroke of luck like with Squall."

Seifer scoffed in response, not caring for the unabridged version.

"Anyway," Irvine continued, a hint of amused understanding in his violet-blue eyes. "Dr. Odine became obsessed, and about three years ago he said he'd figured out how it all worked. This was the six time we were out at some random location, and I must say I'm shocked that the doc was right."

"Lucky me," the blond commented wryly.

Though Irvine hadn't been sure what to expect, he'd thought it would have been along the lines of a silent and avidly listening knight trying to understand the magnitude of the situation. Yet, Seifer Almasy was calmly disregarding everything that should have muted the man with shock. There was a subtle antagonistic feel to the blond man's words that was steadily becoming more irritating. "I was chosen because I don't anger easily, but you're making it difficult," the Galbadian drawled in annoyance.

"And I'm not even trying," Seifer input sarcastically.

The car came to a screeching halt. "Listen Almasy, there are a lot of things you don't know. But the fact remains that you're alive and well, show a little appreciation for the fact."

At the angry horns beeping, Irvine sped up once more, his supposed anger dissipating.

"Give me a day or two to remember that fact," the now former knight replied solemnly.

"Do you remember everything from when you were a child?"

Quirking a brow, Seifer regarded the longhaired man curiously. "As much as a person can."

"Not long after the war began, it was discovered that Guardian Forces have amnesic effects on the brain. If you remember being raised in an orphanage in Centra, then you should remember me from back then as well."

Frowning, Seifer stared forward out the windshield, his eyes drawn to the swaying motion of the wipers. "You're Irvy?"

"The one and only," the gunman stated proudly. "Fate can be cruel like that. We were all together as kids and then things turned out the way they did…" he trailed off, not needing to explain further.

With wide eyes, Seifer turned his attention to the smirking gunman, wondering if he'd even know if he'd forgotten anything. He tried to find blank spots in his past, but there weren't any.

"Like I said, it was the GFs," Irvine reiterated, knowing that feeling of doubt all too well.

Raking a hand through damp blond hair, the ex-knight gave a heavy sigh. It was bad enough that so much was being thrown at him all at once, but now he couldn't even keep a firm grasp on what he already knew. His memories were vague, even when he actually tried to focus on them.

Noticing the look of concentration, Irvine assured, "It'll take a while to remember it all, but it will come back if you keep trying."

"Where are we going?" Seifer questioned, choosing to ignore his memory problem for the moment.

"Odine's lab, to make sure you're in good health."

"Dr. Odine is a nutcase. I'm not letting that little shit near me with a needle," the blond returned firmly, hardly caring that he wasn't exactly in a position to argue.

"Then how about a cute nurse in a sexy uniform," the gunman drawled, a certain glaze coming to his eyes.

Eyeing the longhaired man with a mixture of distain and confusion, Seifer eventually nodded. "I might consider that," he agreed under the assumption it was just a bad joke.

HIH-

"Like hell I'm gonna let that messenger girl come near me with that thing!" Seifer growled as he pointed accusingly at the copper haired woman wearing some cosplay get up and holding a rather large syringe.

Sticking her tongue out, Selphie pouted. "I'm a nurse! A nurse!" she shouted.

"Darlin'," Irvine placated as he loosed the knot of his tie. "Settle down, it can't be good for the baby."

Bottom lip trembling, the flippy haired woman set down the fake syringe and gently rubbed her growing belly, easily seen with the nurse's costume that hugged her form tightly. "I wore it 'cause you said you wanted to play doctor."

A light blush coming to his cheeks, Irvine coughed. "Yes well, that's a slightly different matter."

Rolling his eyes, Seifer impatiently waited for his presence to be acknowledged once more. He'd been brought all the way there on the assumption that he'd have his blood pressure taken and all the usual check up shit done, then have the rest of his questions answered. Instead, the crazy messenger girl toddled along, making as if to stab him with a needle.

"A real physician will be here soon," the gunman stated as he saw the look of rising impatience on the ex-knight's demeanor.

"Well, while we wait, how about you continue telling me more of what's happened," the blond suggested with a biting tone. Where the hell were Raijin and Fujin when he needed at least partially competent people nearby?

Selphie approached the tall blond knight, staring at him intensely. "You should change. You'll catch a cold wearing those clothes."

Defiantly, Seifer straightened up, crossing his arms before his broad chest. Though torn in various places and wet, there was nothing but hospital gowns to change into. He'd stick with his blue vest and baggy military pants.

"You and Squall, I swear!" the short woman declared with an air of defeat. "Get up," she ordered as she approached the bed.

Sitting on the edge of the pristinely made bed of white sheets that he didn't feel like dirtying, Seifer glared. "Nurses shouldn't steal the patient's bed," he stated without moving.

"I'm pregnant, and I wanna lie down."

With a huff, Seifer suggested, "Then you should find your own room."

Big green eyes stared for a long moment before softening with amusement. "Quisty was right," she spoke over her shoulder to the gunman. "They do deserve each other."

Though interested in the meaning of the woman's comment, Seifer ignored it. "Seven years have gone by and you haven't even begun to tell me what's happened."

Smiling brightly, Selphie took a seat beside Seifer. "Irvy and I are married, we have two children and a third on the way."

Suddenly realizing his mistake, jade green eyes cast a pleading glance to the gunman. He knew he was in trouble when the lanky man simply shrugged and leaned against the wall as if it was going to take a while.

"I work from home designing really awesome ammunition for the new ship models that come out. Irvy works at the Presidential Palace. Quisty is Head Instructor at Balamb Garden. Zell left SeeD right after the war to open up a restaurant in the Town of Balamb. Me and Irvy came here about six years ago because of Squall, who-"

"Sorry to keep you waiting," interrupted a middle-aged woman in a long white lab coat.

"Kadowaki," Seifer breathed in slight relief and surprise.

"Who else," the older woman returned with a smile. "It's been too long Mr. Almasy."

"Keep going Tilmitt," Seifer commanded. "Though keep the personal crap to a minimum. Tell me about Fujin and Raijin."

Placing an index finger to her temple and mumbling incoherently, Selphie attempted to appear deep in thought. "Hmm, let me see," she muttered. "Oh, that's right. A fishing business… somewhere in Fisherman's Horizon… I think."

"Nnh," the blond intoned to show he was still listening. Offering his arm, he complied with the necessary procedures of a check up. Though he felt fine, perhaps rather tired, he couldn't deny to importance of making sure he had all his organs in place after what happened.

It wasn't long into the storytelling that Seifer began to realize there was one person in particular that was being left out. "What's Squally-boy been up to exactly?" he questioned directly.

Faltering noticeably, Selphie shifted in her reclining position on the bed. "Well," she began almost nervously, throwing a looking of uncertainty to the gunman. "Him and Rinoa split a while back. I already mentioned that she's working at the orphanage with Ellone and Matron. Oh, did I tell you that President Loire is his dad?"

Frowning at the information, Seifer was tempted to inquire further about the Estharian President being that father of someone he grew up with in an orphanage, but he saw the diverting tactic easily enough. "That's nice, but what about pansy boy?" He was only interested because it seemed like something was being hidden, which meant there was something worth knowing.

"Show a little respect," Irvine barked from his place across the small room.

Glaring, Seifer expressed his feelings at being talked down to. If given a fair chance, he could kick the gunman's ass in a heartbeat. Still, a rather dark thought dawned on him. "He's not dead is he?" The moments of silence that followed almost left him feeling guilty.

"Of course he's not dead," Selphie assured. "But, it's not really our place to say much."

"I don't think he'd mind," Kadowaki input casually, not even glancing up from her clipboard she was scribbling on.

"Oh, he'd mind," Irvine refuted. "Squall's pretty uptight about it. You know how he gets when it comes to putting responsibility on someone else's shoulders."

"It's unhealthy," the doctor chastised, as if Squall were in the room with them.

"Still, we respect the leader's wishes," Irvine declared firmly.

Seifer glanced sidelong at the pregnant messenger girl as she struggled to sit up and place a hand on his shoulder. "When you're discharged, we'll take you to see him."

"The twins have been going nuts lately," Irvine remarked to his wife, an understanding passed between the two of them.

"With respect to my posse, Raijin and Fujin will be the first I see," Seifer stated without room for argument.

HIH-

Standing tall, the former knight stared out into the ocean. The setting sun cast a reddish glow on golden blond hair. The recently cut strands were back to their normal length, slicked back as always. Though the familiar weight of his long grey coat was missed, it was too warm for it anyway. Instead, he stood in a new blue vest and sleet grey slacks.

"Quite the motley crew you have!" Seifer called from the end of a rickety pier, watching as the small fishing boat made its way into dock. Considering the citizens of Fisherman's Horizon were constantly constructing something, the waterlogged harbor was surprising. Though, he figured the general mindset of not fixing what wasn't broken must have influenced the priority for construction.

In a swift movement that nearly resulted in falling overboard, Raijin Former stood with mounds of thick rope in his arms and stared at the blond knight in shock.

Manning the helm, a silver haired woman surveyed the area as if expecting some sneak attack. At length, her single red eye focused on Seifer. Now a captain, Fujin Berren stared with a tirade of emotions at the man she would have followed into the depths of the underworld. It was the very same man that she and Raijin had pined for over the years and eventually given up for dead.

"Holy shit!" Raijin called out in greeting, deep laughter following. Barely managing to keep from abandoning ship to reach the pier sooner, the burly man settled for waving enthusiastically and causing noticeable wave action from the bow moving under his heavy muscle mass.

The fact that Fujin didn't yell at the enthusiastic man was an expression of her own excitement. Though, the wide smile on her face, which she valiantly tried to dismiss every few seconds, belied her equaled feelings to Raijin's.

In a more collected manner, Fujin saluted and then gestured away from the pier to indicate where they'd be docking.

Seifer returned the salute and followed the sailing woman's line of indication before making his way to it. Pacing his steps, he timed it so he arrived just as they docked.

In a warm welcome, Seifer first found himself crushed by Raijin's powerful arms, gripped fiercely to the point that his ego began to take a beating. There were very few people who could boast about having greater physical strength than himself, which was why he was friends with the burly fighter.

Next came a more stubborn Fujin, a woman who prided herself on being in control of herself and the world around her. Thin lips pressed firmly together, her crimson-eyed gaze soaking up the sight of her returned idol. "SEIFER," she called out in disbelief.

"Yeah, it's me you old hag," the ex-knight stated with an easy understanding of the question behind her short utterance.

"NATURAL," the silver haired woman cried with amicable annoyance, reaching a hand to touch her whitish hair. Raijin never dared to make fun of her hair color. Only Seifer had ever made fun of it, nicknaming her an old hag. Hearing the title again nearly brought her to tears.

"Come here," the blond man said before giving his own version of a crushing hug to the woman's smaller frame. It was unbelievably satisfying to see them again, their trio reunited.

It wasn't long before the three sat around a worn, but sturdy wooden table in Pops' Pub. A forty-year-old establishment run by the son of the original owner whom everyone had called Pops, Raijin and Fujin swore it was the best haunting place when in need of a drink and decent atmosphere.

With the traditional mugs of piss yellow beer and a head at least in inch too high, Seifer watched in amusement as Raijin took a swig and wound up with a mess on half his face.

After a painful kick to the shin from Fujin, the burly fighter eased up on the race to become smashed and wiped his face with a bare forearm, which earned him yet another sharp kick. Wincing, he waved his female counterpart off in a show that he didn't need any more discipline.

"I guess we should start with an apology, ya know?" Raijin said in an uncharacteristically solemn tone.

"Stupid asses," Seifer muttered. "If this is about running to Leonhart like a pair of Chicken-wusses, then I know why you did it."

"NEGATIVE," Fujin said, drawing the attention of a few customers who weren't regulars and therefore unaccustomed to hearing the terse and loud form of speech she used.

"We don't regret that, ya know? But, we like gave you up for dead, ya know?" Raijin clarified. "It's been like forever. We never thought we'd see you again."

Seifer just laughed. "As if I'd care about that." For the first time, he was beginning to feel appreciation for being back. After losing hope himself, he couldn't have been happier to wind up back where he belonged, even if so much time had gone by.

It had been a week since he was lying on the ground near the Sorceress Memorial. In his mind, he'd estimated his time spent wandering through compressed time to be around a month. There hadn't been night or day, just seemingly never ending expanses. To his surprise, Kadowaki estimated his age to currently be around twenty-five years old, which meant that seven years had indeed been stripped away from him almost instantly. How he was able to survive, or return for that matter, was still a mystery. His body showed no signs of malnutrition or fatigue after his relentless walking and often jogging.

By the time Dr. Kadowaki had declared him fit for discharge, he'd felt almost giddy with excitement to leave. It had finally set in that he was alive and that the war was over with. While he was still sporting a rather sore ego after learning of Leonhart's nice victory, he was undoubtedly happy to have his own free will back again. When he felt up for seeing the puberty boy again, he'd drop by and maybe even be civil.

At the continued look of regret in dark brown eyes, Seifer assured, "I'd given myself up for dead too."

"What happened, like, all this time?" Propping his forearms on the table and leaning in a bit, bulky muscles shifted beneath deeply tanned skin, testimony to the sort of work Raijin was involved in.

"I don't even think that quack scientist Odine could explain it. I swear I kept a decent record of how much time I was gone, and it couldn't have been more than a month."

"A month?" Raijin murmured with his undivided attention focused on the blond knight. "Where were you?"

"I don't have a damn clue," Seifer answered honestly. "So far as I can wager a half-assed guess, I was between dimensions or times. It was like a desert or something, not hot, but it went on forever. When I reached the end of one, there was fog, and then it was as if I was back at the beginning."

Frowning, Raijin glanced at Fujin to see if she was listening just as intently. "Did you survive off the land? Ya know, like those adventure people?"

Shaking his head, Seifer fell into pace with explaining things for the hundredth time. "I didn't have to eat or sleep, but I got tired a lot. Though, it was more one of those things where it's all in your head. I mean, I could keep walking, but sometimes I'd just lay down."

Whistling was Raijin's only response, unable to think of the right words. What could he say to something like that? Seven years had gone by and he'd thought Seifer had died, then their posse leader showed up and said that he'd been walking around in some weird place for a month.

After several minutes of thoughtful silence, where the group sipped their drinks and soaked in the atmosphere, Raijin spoke up in question, "If you didn't need to eat or nothin', then do you think you were like a spirit?"

"Don't know, don't care," Seifer stated simply. "I'm back, and that's all I care about right now."

"AFFIRMATIVE," Fujin agreed with a smirk.

Scratching spiky black hair, Raijin grinned sheepishly. "Man it's good to see you Seifer. I almost expect to wake up any second, ya know?"

Quirking a brow, Seifer stared with mischievous green eyes. "Our friendship is over if you're saying that you like to have dreams about me. I know I'm sexy, but have a little self control Raijin."

Blushing furiously, Raijin gaped. "No way man!" he defended with embarrassment. It wasn't until Fujin's stifled chuckling turned into stiff laughter that he realized the blond was joking. "Aww, quit it," he said in annoyance.

"I'm starving and broke, so why don't you two treat me to dinner," Seifer input after chugging half his beer and setting the mug down with a chink.

"You're not broke," Raijin refuted. "I know all about your brilliant money plans. You've been bragging about that shit since we first started those crap jobs with you, ya know?"

Remembering his first job working for some mechanic in Balamb, Seifer was also reminded of how he'd always striven to become self-dependent. When the Headmaster found out, he'd already acquired a fair amount of money, considering Garden had provided all his needs and all his paychecks went right in the bank. When Headmaster Kramer let him continue with part time jobs it was perhaps the only time he'd ever really liked the man. "I was declared dead, so the bank turned my account over to Garden."

"What! No way. That's like not right, ya know?"

"I'm just messing with you. Still, seven years and you can't even buy me dinner?" Seifer complained with mock hurt.

TBC...


	2. Chapter 2

Defining Love

Chapter Two

It was a bright morning, though it was still too early for all the heavy fog to dissipate completely. A gentle breeze flitted through the kitchen window, the two panes cracked open on their hinges, pushed further as the breeze became a bit stronger.

The fast clicking of keys was barely audible over the growing hustle of cars on the street outside and the sound of birds that were suspected to have nested in the gutter just outside the window.

Intermittent with typing was the silent pause of reading the laptop screen and the sipping of hot bitter liquid. Squall Leonhart sat casually with one leg folded beneath him on a padded chair at the kitchen table. Damp hair fresh from his shower hung in disarray just past his ears.

Reaching for his mug once more, he didn't notice it was empty until he attempted to take a sip. Unfurling from his position, he stood up to pour more coffee from the freshly made pot. He'd arrived earlier that morning, but found sleep eluded him and had woken up only a couple hours later despite his haggard state.

Having been on an assignment for the past week, he was more than content to be home once more. He didn't like being away for so long, but it had been a special case that required his assistance.

Wearing an oversized, navy blue sweatshirt and a pair of black, flannel pants, he seemed more ready to go to bed than start his day. Still, he couldn't resist the minor comfort of dressing down when away from prying eyes and with the prospect of not being on call for the rest of the week.

Socked feet silently stepped across the white tiled floor to bring the brunet once more before his morning's work. Not being on call didn't mean he could just forget about writing up all the reports he'd pushed off until the last minute. He couldn't stand office work, but when he headed an operation for any Garden, the fun of fieldwork came with a price later on.

When the sound of a car horn filtered up, he stood once more to latch the window shut. There was only so much noise he could take, and when the horns started beeping, that meant the business day had begun and it would only get worse.

Gazing down six stories at the street below, he shifted his focus to the park just across from the apartment complex. From his position, he could clearly see the main courtyard with the lavish fountain that he considered an utter waste of money. A victorious lion modeled after Griever posed proudly. The fountain's plaque held his name on it, below which was a brief summary about his time as a commander and role in the war. He'd nearly killed Laguna for having the fountain made, forever causing him embarrassment each time he walked by it.

"You're back!" cried a child's voice from across the flat of the apartment.

Snapping from his reverie, Squall turned abruptly at the greeting. Through the open doorway of the kitchen, he saw big blue-green eyes alight with joy. The depth of excitement that his mere presence invoked was heart warming. Having never experienced any sort of parental bond himself or observed such a relationship, he still marveled at the intense emotion he felt for his son. His love for the boy was almost ludicrous in the sense that it was instantaneous upon first sight and so strong.

Quickly rushing across the large apartment, weaving about the obstructing couch and coffee table, Lore Leonhart ran headlong towards his father. Long pajama bottoms threatened to trip up pattering feet. The child's sole concern aside from closing the distance was not a matter of keeping balance, but clutching tightly to a stuffed toy lion.

Bending down, Squall intercepted the six-year-old who hadn't thought to slow down until making contact. He almost laughed when he nearly toppled backwards, silently observing that the boy was growing and becoming stronger every day.

"Morning," Squall said as he straightened up and took the clinging boy with him, the ratty stuffed animal squashed between them. Shifting an arm to better support the light weight, he used his free hand to affectionately tousle dark raven hair.

Tightening his single armed grip around the lithe fighter's neck, Lore gave his customary hug. "You were gonna wake me up," he mumbled against the soft fabric of his father's shirt. "Your hair's cold," he complained further while trying to keep his head resting against a shoulder but also keep away from damp locks.

"I tried to wake you, but you just kept snoring so loudly," Squall returned.

Pulling back to gaze into bright grey-blue eyes, eyes that he swore had magic in them, the boy defended, "I don't snore."

With a small smile, Squall questioned, "Then was it Griever?" Angling his head down to peer at the toy between them, he asked, "Do you snore Griever, or was that our cub?"

"Griever doesn't snore also." Leaning back with the confidence that the man holding him wouldn't let him fall, he pulled the toy lion out. "He's still sleeping," the boy said. Holding the animal up to the brunet's ear, he grinned. "See? He doesn't snore."

"I guess not," Squall admitted, grateful that Lore had forgotten about not being woken up. He'd checked in on the sleeping boy, but at three in the morning, he didn't dare disturb the youth.

"Guess what!" the boy cried in remembrance.

"What?" Squall spoke with slight amusement. Usually Lore was already filling him in on what he'd missed, speaking a mile a minute to make certain he was informed of everything.

Smiling proudly, Lore informed, "I beat Grandpa in chess! He said I musta been cheating, but I didn't. And then, and then, are you listening?"

Smiling, Squall nodded, taking a seat in the chair and placing the boy in his lap.

Certain he had his father's undivided attention once more, Lore continued, "And then, Grandpa fell down the stairs again, and Ward catched him before he really fell, but his foot got hurt, but then Grandpa wouldn't let anyone fix it, and then he really fell, and then all the soldiers got scared, but Kiros came and did magic to make it better."

Squall marveled at his son's ability to speak without pause, nearly making the effort in one breath. Still, between the two of them, he enjoyed listening and Lore loved telling stories, so it worked out quite nicely.

"Is Grandpa all better?" Squall prompted in a show that he'd caught every word.

"Yeah, but I think Kiros got hurt too, 'cause he said Grandpa made him have a heart attack."

"I'm sure he did," Squall commented, understanding first hand just how high Laguna could cause his blood pressure to soar at times. Knowing there were many more stories to listen to after being gone for so long, Squall was content to sit and listen with the familiar weight of his son in his lap. However, when Lore gave a stifled yawn, he realized the boy was still quite tired. "Did you wait up for me?" he questioned with a frown, immediately feeling sorry that he hadn't returned sooner.

Nodding with a lazy blink, the initial excitement waning and leaving the boy in a tired state, he admitted, "Grandpa let me work on my puzzle 'til eleven, but I stayed up real late in my room."

"What's this I hear?" Called a deep voice from just outside the kitchen doorway. Long raven hair in tangles from sleep, Laguna Loire stalked closer to his quiet son and gabbing grandson. "Boys who stay up past their bedtime wind up losing all their teeth." Yawning, Laguna corrected, "I mean losing all their hair… or one of the two." Suddenly forgetting what he was referring to, he waved the matter off and made a beeline for the coffee.

"Old men lose their teeth," Lore corrected.

"That's right," Squall supported at the expectant look from his son.

The Estharian President grumbled to himself, sleepily searching the cupboards for a mug, unable to get it right on the first try despite having done it countless times before. Upon finally succeeding in his task, he fixed himself a cup of coffee loaded with flavored creamer and sugar.

Shuffling towards the table, he managed to place a greeting kiss atop Squall's head without falling over or spilling his hot drink, though to be safe he held the mug out awkwardly.

Slumping in defeat, Lore made himself comfortable in his father's lap, falling silent and simply enjoying the contact with a spoiled superiority in knowing that only he could cling to his father like that.

"Tired cub?" Squall asked, already knowing the answer.

With a nod, Lore wriggled about, seeking to rest comfortably enough to fall back asleep. There was less room on his favorite perch with each passing year, but it was his number one choice in seating regardless.

Considering it was six o'clock and Lore was a stubborn boy who had likely made it to one in the morning before crashing, Squall made certain to keep still so that the child was lulled back to sleep.

Closing his laptop, Squall regarded Laguna. "Thanks for staying with him," he said.

"You know it's not a bother," the older man assured with a grin. "Besides, it gives me a legitimate excuse to shirk my presidential duties."

Shaking his head, Squall expressed his opinion on the matter with small frown. For Laguna to play hooky at every given opportunity led him to wonder if the man were truly his father.

"How'd the mission go?" Laguna inquired. Taking a slurping sip of the steaming liquid, he sighed in contentment and slouched in his chair. "Good coffee," he murmured, relishing having the first cup in a week that tasted right. At times he felt more like Squall's son than father. He sulked whenever he bit into a piece of toast that wasn't made the way Squall made it and complained to no end about how the coffee in the office was never as good as the coffee at his son's place.

Raking a hand through slowly drying hair, Squall gave an indifferent shrug, careful not to move too much.

Quirking a brow, Laguna dismissed it, not up for dragging words from the stoic man's mouth. "Well you're back anyway," he commented to fill the silence, learning long ago to just read Squall's mood and carry on as if he weren't the only one talking.

As Lore mumbled something of a complaint, Squall settled his free arm around the boy. In what he knew to be the final stage of the child's restless squirming about, his cub made a lethargic move to hug him. It wasn't so much a hug as it was changing to the most wanted position, draped along his chest as if he were a human pillow. Still sitting upright, Squall needed to use both arms to keep the boy in place. It wasn't bothersome since in less than ten minutes Lore would be sound asleep.

"There were strange rumors," Squall said. Being out in the middle of the desert, he didn't read the latest newspapers, but rumors still reached him. "About Seifer."

Hazel green eyes widened. Suddenly sparking to life, the president sat straight. "Hyne, I completely forgot," he said before shaking his head and silently telling himself to just get to the important stuff. "Irvine picked him up at the Sorceress Memorial last week. He wouldn't let Dr. Odine near him, but Dr. Kadowaki said he's perfectly healthy."

Grey-blue eyes fell to rest at no particular point on the table. Brows draw together in deep thought, he questioned, "What happened to him?" He'd known of the theories revolving around the whereabouts of his long time rival, but after seven years and five previous conclusions that had resulted in nothing, he hadn't expected anything to change.

"I wouldn't know even if someone explained it to me," the president admitted. "I guess he's aged the same as if he were here, but we don't know where he really was. Anyway, he's out of the hospital now."

"Are you going to give any statements?" Squall queried, wondering at what the ramifications would be for just letting Ultimecia's knight go free.

"Like what?" Laguna questioned with innocent obliviousness.

Shaking his head, Squall dismissed it, silently planning to speak with Kiros about it later.

"Daddy, I wanna play in the fountain today," came the sleepy request, after which Lore promptly turned his head to rest his other cheek down on his father's shoulder.

Frowning as he fell into deeper thought, Squall's mind churned the recent news over. "Is he…." he began to ask, but trailed off. He didn't need Laguna to know he was concerned about anything at the moment.

"Irvine says he doesn't know. They didn't want to tell him. They're leaving that up to you," Laguna informed, only able to know what was on Squall's mind because it had been on his own since first learning of the knight's return.

Nodding in understanding, Squall left the matter alone, needing time to think. After seven years, he'd imagined every scenario, yet he was still completely unprepared. In truth, he was a little frightened of making a wrong move and the consequences it might bring.

---

"Isn't that the shirt he wore to bed?" Squall questioned from the sidelines as he watched Lore sprint ahead to what the child called 'Griever's fountain'. There were holes in the stone ground all around the actual fountain, which spurt water up like a geyser for kids to play in. It was just a fancy sprinkler system that Lore never tired of playing in.

"He loves that shirt," Laguna reminded. "Besides, he'll be soaked in a couple minutes anyway."

Shaking his head, Squall conceded to letting his son wear the worn and faded t-shirt with a picture of a lion on the front. Lore had been obsessed with Griever and lions ever since he was born, starting with the shiny pendant Squall wore around his neck. There was no discouraging the fascination when it did no harm. Actually, it was quite amusing to watch the boy crawl around and pretend to be a lion, making odd sounding growls that never failed to put a smile on his face.

"Daddy watch!" Lore called out, daring to place a bare foot right over the top of a hole, the opening only a couple inches in diameter.

In no time at all, water came spurting up and Lore jumped back at the last second, laughing in his own world of excitement at nearly braving to keep his foot in place. His laughter only increased when the water that shot above his head came falling down to soon soak him through, his swimming trunks and shirt hanging limply.

"Can I climb up?" the boy requested while pointing wildly at the life size sculpture of a king lion.

"No," Squall shot down. "It's not for climbing."

"Please, I promise I won't get hurt," Lore pleaded with his father.

"We've been over this," Squall stated with a stern look.

Hand falling dejectedly, Lore intoned a disappointed, "Aww."

"You know that as soon as he's old enough to come here on his own, the first thing he'll do is climb on it," Laguna said, his tone implying that perhaps letting Lore have his fun now would prevent such a future.

"And he'll probably be arrested for it," Squall pointed out, thinking that such an event would only serve to prove what was acceptable and what wasn't.

Running over to join the two idling men, Lore bound straight for his father and pressed his sopping form against the man. Laughing hysterically at soaking Squall, who hadn't been wearing a swimsuit, he broke away quickly. "You're it!" he announced before running away.

Squall gave a brief glance down at his clothes. Boot cut jeans and the lower half of a plain white t-shirt were now damp. He'd seen the attack coming, but could hardly refuse to play along. Wasting no more time, he sat down to quickly remove his heavy boots.

Ignoring Laguna's chuckling, Squall left his place and rushed after Lore. "You can't out run me," he announced to let the child know he was following.

"Yes I can!" Lore cried from his place on the other side of the fountain.

It was only a little bit after twelve, which was when the fountain's system turned on each day. There were small holes and big ones, creating a rather aesthetically pleasing sight when each opening had water shooting from it. The bigger ones weren't actually holes, but rather just the outer rim shot a curtain of water. It was safer considering small feet were constantly running around.

Before Squall knew it, he was soaked completely. He dashed around the center fountain. Between the sprays of white gushing water, he could see his son darting on the other side. The water was a bit cold, but the sun was rising and shining down brightly with the promise of a hot day.

"You can't get me!" Lore called out, stopping to search for his father on the other side, making sure he wasn't circling around just to run into the clever man.

It was only a matter of time before Squall wound up with a hysterically laughing Lore in his arms.

Sitting on a nearby bench, just out of reach of the water, Laguna watched the procession with a forlorn smile. He wished he could have had what Squall and Lore had. He wished he could be twenty-seven again and stay with Raine, and have Squall be six years old without a care in the world. Instead, he was fifty-two with a son that seemed incapable of letting anyone into his heart except for Lore.

TBC…


	3. Chapter 3

Defining Love

Chapter Three

"Something that you should know before going in, is that Squall has a son," Irvine said as he and the broad formed knight stepped off the elevator.

Stopping in his tracks, Seifer stared incredulously at the gunman. "Damn, I never thought puberty boy would have gotten laid. Who's the unfortunate mother?"

Eyes narrowing, Irvine reacted without thinking. With the barrel of a standard Beretta 92F leveled at the blond's head, he hissed, "Make no mistake, I will not hesitate to put you in your place if you so much as look at Squall in a condescending manner."

Sneering, Seifer crossed his arms before his chest, daring the gunman to shoot. "Me and Squally-boy go way back, cowboy."

"Your history with him means nothing," Irvine hissed. "I brought you here because you owe him your gratitude. Whatever he decides to tell you, I suggest you disappear afterwards."

Sorely missing his gunblade, Seifer simply scoffed. "You brought me here, remember. I'm not stepping on eggshells for anyone."

Mastering himself once more, Irvine holstered his weapon inside his long brown coat and proceeded down the dimly lit hall.

For a brief moment, Seifer watched the cowboy walk away. His gut was telling him that something was up, but he couldn't place it.

"There are a few ground rules," Irvine said, pausing just outside Squall's apartment door.

"For Hyne's sake just open the damn door and let me get this over with," Seifer bit out with impatience.

Unfazed by the former knight's words, Irvine remained in place before the door. "First, no foul language. Squall doesn't want his son using swear words all the time, and I could certainly do with out one of my kids swearing in front of their mother. I'd have a hell of a time explaining where they learned it."

"Are you shitting me Cowboy?" Seifer grumbled, staring down into violet-blue eyes that were obviously not kidding. "Tch," he intoned with reluctant acceptance. "That's half my vocabulary gone."

"Second, don't start any fights. Try and understand that Squall is still Squall, but every parent is different around his or her children. Don't goad him into showing a side of himself he doesn't want his son to see." Irvine had the feeling that Seifer couldn't even begin to imagine what it was like to be a parent.

Jade green eyes widened in slight curiosity, wondering exactly what he'd be seeing once the door was opened. It was hard to imagine his rival being anything but a mute and asocial freak.

"I guess that's all," Irvine said, mentally checking to see if he'd covered the important stuff. Knocking softly, he keyed in the code number and swiped a keycard, not waiting for anyone to answer. With the door halfway open, he turned back and added, "Be quiet."

Frowning, Seifer shook his head, wanting to get it over with and meet up with Raijin and Fujin. The only reason he was there was because his two knuckle head friends insisted he pay the pretty boy hero a visit. While he was a little jealous of Leonhart's victory, that wasn't why he was so reluctant to make nice. He just wanted to move on with his life, and since he was no longer with Garden, he didn't need reminders of the past. His greatest rival was the physical icon of everything linked with Balamb Garden and the orphanage.

Coats and shoes left in the entryway, the two men entered the large apartment.

Being that it was a bright day outside, the dimming of the main room was obviously a mood setter. The drapes were drawn on the large glass door in the living room, keeping light from creating a glare on the television.

Two small bodies were on the floor, each child's face staring fixedly at some animated entertainment on screen.

"Dad?" a young blonde girl intoned, head craning to glance at the newcomers.

"Hey darlin'," Irvine greeted. "Where's your uncle?"

The second girl with a head of identical blonde hair turned to regard the auburn haired gunman. "He's putting Lore to bed," she answered before muting the television with a remote that had been nearby.

"It's kind of early," Irvine commented with a quick glance to his watch, determining that it was only a little after five.

"That's 'cause Lore's sick," the first blonde answered.

"Who's that?" the other girl questioned, sitting up and turning to regard the tall blond man with interest.

"Why not ask me directly," Seifer suggested.

"Terri, Hanna," Irvine said as he gestured to each respective girl. "This is Seifer Almasy."

"Hello," the twins intoned together.

Grimacing, Seifer didn't care to hide the eerie chill he received at the sound of the two speaking in sync. "Creepy," he commented.

Smirking, Terri and Hanna stood together. "We get that," one began. "A lot," the other finished smoothly.

Irvine chuckled. "Aren't they adorable?"

Seifer decided not to say what he thought the twins were, not when he wasn't armed and the fast drawing cowboy didn't have trouble putting a bullet or two in his kneecaps. "You started early," he commented, mentally estimating the creepy twins to be around ten or eleven, which meant the gunman was something like fourteen when becoming a father.

"They're twelve," Irvine clarified. "Selphie and I adopted."

"Mom said it's like having two for the price of one," Terri input.

Frowning, Seifer tried to figure how that made any sense, but gave up as soon as he remembered that it was the crazy messenger girl that was their mother. "Uh-huh," he muttered noncommittally.

"We're just going to see your uncle real quick, then we'll go, so get your stuff," Irvine said.

"Do we have to?" Hanna questioned with an unsuppressed groan of disappointment.

"I wanna stay another night," Terri said, supporting her sister's want to stay.

Moving across the flat, which was basically like a giant living room, Irvine motioned for Seifer to follow. "If Lore's sick, then you two are not far behind. Let's not give your uncle three kids to be putting to bed."

"We don't mind," the girls stated earnestly.

Chuckling softly, Irvine corrected, "But your uncle might." Speaking more quietly to the ex-knight beside him, he explained, "They're going through this phase. They both have crushes on their uncle."

Seifer fought the urge to slap his forehead. Why did the cowboy sound so proud about it? "Uncle Puberty-boy," Seifer hummed to himself with amusement. "Such a ladies man he can get a set of twins, never mind that they're twelve."

Seeming to remember that Seifer wasn't likely to understand where he or any other father was coming from, Irvine sobered. "Just shut up and follow," he grumbled, a bit downtrodden that he couldn't boast about his girls to someone who'd take an interest.

Muffled sniffling floated from the only open door along the long corridor that lead off from the living room. Following the sound of a child crying, Irvine approached the room first.

"I don't wanna go to the doctor," Lore said, sobbing over the tragic idea of seeing a doctor. His voice was hoarse and it was clear from the sniffling that he wouldn't be breathing out of his nose anytime soon.

Sighing, Squall rubbed the boy's back as the child stubbornly remained in place against his chest. "What if Dr. Kadowaki comes here?" he questioned.

"I'm not sick," Lore assured, coughing seconds after.

"Howdy," Irvine greeted in a near whisper, making sure to block Seifer from view as he stood just within the doorway.

Looking up in slight surprise, Squall stared for a moment, eyes narrowing as they focused beyond the gunman's shoulder. "Sorry to have you pick them up sooner, but I don't want them catching anything," the brunet stated in explanation, forgoing a greeting completely.

Shaking his head, Irvine said, "It's fine. Besides, if they spend too much time here, they're going to love you more than me."

Squall stared for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "I see you've brought a guest," he commented.

Faltering for a second, Irvine hesitantly stepped forward, no longer needing to hide Seifer in the hall. He had hoped to just alert Squall that Seifer was there, and perhaps take the conversation elsewhere, but there was no fooling those sharp, stormy eyes that seemed to see through walls.

Stepping into view, Seifer casually glanced around the room, noting the obsessive lion themed decorations and nearly laughing out loud. From the tan colored rug to the surrounding mural of a jungle on the walls. The comforter sporting little baby lions and an overused stuffed animal set close by were clear indications that the clinging daddy's boy was obsessed. He could only imagine the sort of psychopathic child someone as introverted as Squall would end up raising.

"It's been a while," the ex-knight greeted in a deep tone, successfully managing to mask any of the thoughts forming in his head.

As expected by Squall, the child in his arms tensed up. Lore wasn't exactly good with strangers, especially assholes who weren't above scaring a child on purpose. As a tear stained face pressed firmly against the crook of his shoulder and small arms tightened their hold around his neck, he shot his former rival a warning glare that demanded good behavior.

"Talkative as ever I see," the blond commented with slight annoyance. From the cowboy explaining what had been going on, to the messenger girl filling in every unnecessary detail, to Raijin and Fujin expressing their utter joy, he was used to more vocal reactions at his sudden appearance. "So you have a runt of your own. I never knew mercenaries were such family men."

Though an array of biting comments came to mind, such as the need to replenish the population after Seifer's aid in destroying it, Squall held his tongue. He felt a slight panic over having Seifer standing in front of him and not knowing what to say. He still couldn't figure the right words.

"We can talk in the kitchen," the former commander suggested evenly.

Nodding his understanding, Irvine turned to usher the tall ex-knight away. "You want anything, for you or Lore?"

Shaking his head, Squall set about the difficult task of detaching the stubborn child from him. Gently raking his fingers through thick hair that was dark as Laguna's, he soothed, "I'll have Dr. Kadowaki come here. You like her, don't you?"

"Who was that?" Lore questioned, eyes peering towards the now vacant doorway.

Hesitating for a moment, Squall said at length, "That was an old friend."

"He sounds scary," the boy complained.

"Sleep, now. The doctor will be here in the morning," Squall stated. It was just a cold, common for the time of the year, but unfortunately not the sort of physical ailment that potions took care of. He was still worried and wanted Kadowaki to at least check up on the boy and affirm that it was just a regular cold. Milla Kadowaki was a physician trusted by himself and everyone associated with Garden, past and present.

As Squall made to move from his half sitting position against the headboard, Lore protested further. "I don't want you to leave. I don't wanna sleep."

Falling prey to his greatest weakness, Squall struggled to remain an authority figure when hearing the hoarse protests of his sick son. "You'll feel better after you sleep."

"I wanna sleep in your bed," Lore pleaded, feeling as if his only escape from the aching was sleep, but not willing to give in so easily.

Reaching for a box of tissues on the nightstand, Squall wiped his son's moistened face down. Small hands left their clinging perch to keep the tissue close. He chuckled at the pathetic manner Lore blew his nose in. With another tissue he helped the boy do a better job.

Hefting the sickly bundle closer, he stood up and proceeded to leave Lore's room. The bedding was turned down, but unused since he'd encountered a stubborn wall when trying to have the boy take a nap. He was more than certain that if he could just get his son to take a quick nap, it would turn into hours of rest.

Crossing the hall, Squall entered his own bedroom. Plain white walls were vacant of any homely touches aside from a mounting case for Lionheart. A long mahogany stained dresser along one wall and a large bed along another were the focus. A partially open door at the other end of the spacious room led to the second bathroom of the apartment.

It was a simple room. Bright by nature with white walls and light grey rug, the open blinds on the window let in a lot of daylight that only amplified the already bright surroundings.

Lore's room was the only bedroom that was truly decorated, catered to the boy's specific wishes as a birthday present. Though a little concerned about the fixation with lions, everyone assured him that it was normal for young boys to find a particular icon and worship it, especially given the association lions had with himself.

There were three other rooms in the one story apartment-- the main bathroom, his office, and the guest room. The guest room was basically Laguna's room since the president was the one who usually occupied it, but it had most recently hosted Irvine's twin daughters.

Given the square footage, the single floor apartment was an insane place to live when in the heart of Esthar. However, it was perfect for his and Lore's needs, and Laguna was crazy about it since it was so close to the Presidential Palace. The older man had wanted Squall to move into the palace, but that was absolutely out of the question.

Sniffling, Lore made a bit of whiney protest as he was set down on his father's bed. "I can't smell anything."

"Obviously," Squall commented with mirth. It was truly an example of how children came to love everything about their parents when Lore constantly came into his bedroom because it so often smelled of leather and oil. Not wanting to leave Lionheart or any other weapons out in the open, he kept them all stored in his room, safely away from small hands. Consequently, his bedroom carried the scent of oil and leather.

"My throat hurts," the boy mumbled.

"You're sick," Squall replied, reaching over Lore to tug at the navy blue comforter, unsettling the pillows in the process.

Seeming to spend his final ounce of energy, Lore crawled under the blankets before flopping down into place.

Squall let the boy get a bit more situated as he closed the blinds. The sun still being out was always the excuse used when Lore wanted to stay up later during the summer season. "What do you want to drink?" he questioned as he returned to the boy's side. Lore seemed so much smaller in his bed, as if a pillow that wound up beneath the covers.

"Soda," Lore answered immediately.

"We don't have any," Squall answered, not even bothering to point out that they never had any because he didn't want his son drinking it all the time.

"Chocolate milk," came the second request.

Considering it for a moment, Squall eventually suggested, "How about hot chocolate?" Dairy wasn't good when Lore was already congested, but hot chocolate made with water would probably be fine.

"Yeah," Lore croaked before burying his face in a pillow.

Turning to leave, Squall was called to a halt by the muffled call of 'Daddy'. "You're so needy," the pale brunet commented before gently ruffling Lore's hair and whispering, "I'll be right back cub."

Leaving his bedroom, Squall turned and nearly ran into Hanna and Terri. Idling outside his room for no apparent reason, he looked at the pair expectantly.

"Dad wants us to gather our stuff," Hanna stated.

Nodding, Squall simply stepped to the side and gestured for the two girls to continue down the hall.

"We wanted to say goodbye," Terri explained with a smile.

"Thanks for having us over Uncle Squall," Hanna said, moving forward to give the former commander a hug.

"We had fun," Terri added.

And just like that, Squall found himself trapped in place with four arms encircling his waist. Before he could think of something to say, still feeling terribly inept around kids that weren't his own, Irvine showed up.

"Move along you two, you know Uncle Squall doesn't like hugs," Irvine chastised, smirking when the two girls scampered off in a fit of giggles, leaving behind a completely oblivious Squall. It was a harmless crush that Selphie assured him all girls developed on older men in their lives. Luckily, Squall wouldn't have understood even if he spelled it out, which was the only truly reassuring part for Irvine as a father.

Relaxing a bit, Squall cast a grateful gaze at the lanky gunman.

"Don't sweat it," Irvine said with a wave of his hand, reading the expressive eyes easily enough. It just took practice to interpret all the things Squall tried to say without using words. All things considered, Squall was actually a rather talkative person, in a silent sort of way.

"If they get sick, I'll foot the doctor's bill," Squall muttered as he walked past Irvine.

Laughing a bit nervously, Irvine admitted, "Actually, the girls were sick last week. I'm afraid they might have given it to Lore."

Not commenting, Squall just sighed and decided Irvine would owe him one. At least it would build up Lore's immune system.

"Do you want me to stick around or leave you two alone?" the gunman questioned, uncertain as to what dirty laundry the two rivals needed to air out.

Stopping mid step, Squall turned to regard his close friend. "You think I should tell him," he stated, suddenly realizing the odd air of discomfort he'd been detecting from the taller gunman.

"I do, but it's your decision in the end," Irvine returned, carefully studying the thoughtful expression of his leader. Though just an untitled SeeD, be it a high ranking and very special SeeD, Squall would always be a leader to them all. To Irvine especially. Squall having Lore right after the war ended had shown them all that despite their dark past, a family was not out of the question. He and Selphie had adopted Hanna and Terri shortly after Lore was born, and now he was going to have a son of his own. Squall was a leader to them in every front.

"I don't know what's right," Squall admitted heavily. "It's not a responsibility to me anymore, but for him it might be. I want this, but I doubt he'd want any part of it."

"He should be given a choice. Isn't that why it was so hard for you at first, because you didn't have a choice?" Irvine pointed out, wanting to reach out and hug the exhausted man until everything was set right again.

"I know, but-"

"Hey!" Seifer called out. "Hurry up!"

Scowling in the general direction of the knight, Squall stalked forward once more. Thinking that it would be a miracle if he didn't end up fighting with the blond man like usual, he tried to remain as calm and level headed as possible.

Apparently feeling quite welcome in Squall's home, Seifer was lazily strewn on the couch, flipping through the channels on the television.

"We'll talk in the kitchen," Squall hissed, glaring the knight's way when he considered the total disregard shown for being in another person's home.

"There's nothing good on anyway," Seifer stated with a grin, making a point out of choosing to follow Squall only because it suited him for the moment.

Before moving out of sight within the kitchen, Squall noted that Seifer at least turned the television off. Setting about making Lore a cup of hot chocolate, he started with the boy's favorite mug, which just so happened to have a lion on it.

"Some obsessions aren't healthy," Seifer stated as he sauntered into the kitchen and took a seat at the oval shaped table. He eyed the cup with distain. "What is it with you and lions? They don't even exist anymore."

"They do actually," Squall corrected, immediately berating himself for the slip.

"Oh?" The blond intoned with amusement. "I'm sure you would know."

Not replying, Squall filled an old fashioned teakettle with water before placing it on the stovetop.

"You know, that's what microwaves are for."

Back turned to man who was as arrogant and condescending as ever, Squall chose not to explain that this was how Lore preferred it. While there really was no difference in taste, his son swore by the method, and after six years it had become a habit that he carried out even when blue-green eyes weren't around to observe the making.

"Was there anything in particular you wanted to see me for?" Squall questioned, still not knowing what he should have to say after seven long years.

"Not really," Seifer admitted with an air of annoyance. "I was happy to leave well enough alone, but my posse insisted that I at least say a quick hello."

"Nnh," Squall sounded in understanding, hardly caring that the blond made it seem like it took force to make anyone come to visit him.

"Some people think I should be thanking you for what you did," Seifer stated, trying to get a feel for where Squall was at the moment. The vacant expression just wouldn't do when he was so used to seeing the anger rise in stormy blue eyes. He needed a better reaction.

Frowning, Squall glanced at Seifer in a questioning manner. He found the idea that the knight owed him gratitude to be rather ridiculous.

"I know," Seifer agreed boisterously, gesturing with his hands in belying frustration. "What did you do that was so fucking great? You just did your job."

"Don't swear," Squall reprimanded.

Rolling his eyes, Seifer conceded to behave simply because he knew the gunman was still around. He was always wary of anyone who used long ranged weapons, feeling as though they were generally fighters with no standards and who wouldn't hesitate to shoot from afar despite the honor placed in hand to hand combat.

"So, is there some big secret I should know about or not?" Seifer asked bluntly, becoming very curious when the puberty boy seemed to go rigid.

Suddenly caught between a rock and a hard place, Squall thought frantically to determine what the right course of action was. He was given a merciful reprieve as the kettle heated quickly and began to whistle an angry alarm that the water was boiled.

Removing the kettle before the noise became too loud, he set it aside on an unused burner. It needed to cool a bit, but he could still set about making the hot drink and even take the time to serve it.

Seifer watched with ever growing curiosity as Squall seemed to struggle with something. Green eyes studied the terse movements of someone on edge. Still, part of the display was oddly calming. Dressed down for the first time he could remember in years, not including the seven years that seemed to have passed in the blink of an eye for him, the ice prince had an unusual warmth.

Dark blue jeans that were slightly too baggy betrayed the fact that the dear Commander's body had changed. The long black turtleneck made a stark contrast against naturally pale skin. As he stared the expressionless face of his rival, he was reminded of how effeminate the brunet had always been. Seven years hadn't added any height to the shorter man and his rival's body was leaner than he remembered. Choppy brown hair was just as he'd last seen it, perhaps a tad longer. The most notable change was the pretty boy's features. Once sharp and unwelcoming, they were now softer. Leonhart seemed more like a mother than a father, doting on the child so openly.

Considering for a moment that his rival was indeed a father, Seifer recalled the image of Squall sitting on the bed with the clinging child. He cringed at the thought of a snot nosed brat draped on him, spreading germs like a plague. He was reminded of Matron. Matron had been the sort of woman who offered an affectionate hug and didn't so much as flinch if a child sneezed right on her. It again came down to Squall seeming more like a mother than father, but Seifer hardly cared to dwell on it.

"Excuse me for a minute," Squall said before leaving the kitchen with a mug of hot chocolate, still a little too hot to be drunk. He needed to be away from the intense study of jade-green eyes, eyes that seemed to look through him and read him too well for comfort.

Squall soon found that Lore was already asleep. He set the mug on the nightstand, a forgotten but not entirely wasted effort. After adjusting the covers a bit, he carefully sat on the edge of the bed and listened to the audible breaths of his son. Reaching out, he smoothed lengthy strands of hair away from the boy's forehead, making a mental note that Lore would need a haircut soon.

"Hey darlin'," Irvine drawled from the doorway, silently creeping closer.

Startled from his lost reverie, Squall turned to regard the approaching gunman.

"Me 'n the girls are gonna mosey on out."

Standing, Squall nodded, watching as Hanna and Terri each gestured for the other to be quiet as they tip toed past the doorway in an exaggerated manner that they must have learned from their mother. Each toting a backpack with the items they'd brought for the single day and night they'd spent, the twins departed from his sight.

"I support you no matter what," Irvine assured, daring to move closer and draw the seemingly fragile brunet into a hug. "Don't make things hard when they don't have to be. Don't take the world on alone."

"Am I interrupting?" Seifer questioned in a near growl, his annoyance at being both ignored and made to wait mounting each minute.

Two sets of curious brown eyes popped up behind the tall knight, the twins apparently biding their time waiting to leave.

"Dad, Mom said no more kissing Uncle Squall," Hanna announced for the entire world to hear.

"Hanna dear," Irvine whispered, "Let's not get into that right this second." His conniving little girls were now referring to a completely innocent happening as some seedy event. Both the twins were too smart for his own good, especially when they seemed to have adopted his sense of humor and turned it against him at every chance.

"If you can hug Uncle Squall, why can't we?" Terrie protested.

"Because I'm cuter," Irvine said with a smacking kiss to Squall's temple that caused precariously loud snickering to erupt from the twins. Releasing his hold, he strutted towards the girls, who knowingly turned tail and fled.

With a sigh Squall followed, motioning for Seifer to move elsewhere as he shut the bedroom door.

Seeming to realize it for the first time, the blond man cast a glance from one door to the next. "So, is the room with all the lions yours?" he questioned with an amused smirk.

Not dignifying the question with an answer, Squall walked away. He paused to give the knight an impatient look when the man didn't follow right away.

Once again in the kitchen, Seifer continued to eye his rival with curiosity. "You got something going on with the cowboy?"

Frowning, Squall pulled a chair out and took a seat adjacent to the former knight. "He's a friend," he muttered in clarification, more for the sake of Irvine's reputation than his own.

"Well, it's not like I care," Seifer affirmed, crossing his arms and leaning back.

"Do you still have dreams?" Squall questioned abruptly, throwing the pacing off kilter completely.

Brows raised at the odd question, Seifer wasn't sure whether or not to answer. "Dreams?"

"Yes, like when we were back at Garden. You were always talking about your romantic dream, which I assume wasn't to head a war against humanity."

"It was to be a knight," Seifer admitted freely, wondering if this was what he'd been brought there for, if Squall was the one with some hidden agenda.

"Now that it's over and you're back, what do you want to do?" Squall pressed, finding that he needed to know in order to determine what Seifer should know.

"You're such a freak, you know that?" Seifer commented.

"Please, just tell me."

Deciding to throw the brunet a bone, he answered, "I'm going into business with Raijin and Fujin. I've got some money saved up that's been collecting a little interest, so we're going to expand their business and trade their junker boat in for something we can really go sailing on."

"And will that be it? Is that what you want to do most?"

Shaking his head in disbelief, Seifer replied, "How the hell am I supposed to know? I'll try it out. If it's not fun, I'll find something else." His agitation cooled when stormy blue eyes seemed to gaze at him with earnest expectancy and what he could swear was anguish.

Biting his lip, Squall wondered if his next question would betray what he was withholding. "Do you like children?"

"What the fuck?" Seifer hissed as he stood up. "Were you always this freaking weird? Hyne, what sort of question is that? And what the hell is up with you having some kid? It's fucking sick to see you guys walking around like the world's perfect all of a sudden and starting families like it's all chirping birds and sunshine."

Suddenly fighting back emotions that had been slowly building up inside of him, Squall cast his gaze to the tabletop, staring at the light colored wood. He was so close to just letting it all go, which made it near impossible to pull back at the last second. Shaking his head and muttering at his own stupidity, he raised a hand and pressed the heel of his palm against his eyes as each began to burn with the threat of tears.

"Fuck Squally-boy, you've changed," Seifer declared with distain. "You were only ever good for an ass kicking, and now I can't even see myself doing that."

Letting out a dry laugh, underlying hurt escaping with it, Squall nodded his head in agreement. "I have changed, but you haven't."

"Damn straight," Seifer stated proudly.

Composed once more, confident that his eyes weren't glistening, Squall regarded the tall blond. He almost flinched back at the sight of intense green eyes that placed him under harsh scrutiny, seeing every flaw that had grown in his character. "That's all I wanted to ask," he spoke quietly.

"Well then, it's been an eye opening visit," the blond said before stalking from the kitchen and making a hasty departure.

"Yes it has," Squall whispered to himself at the sound of the door closing behind the former knight.


	4. Chapter 4

Defining Love

Chapter Four

Life actually felt like sunshine and rainbows while Seifer lay on his back, staring up at the night sky. Hardly sentimental about the events that had brought him to be there, he reminisced despite his general loath for dwelling on the past.

The gentle wave action was soothing. Placed at the bow, he relaxed while the rocking motion seemed to flow through his body. After a day of work, his muscles were tired, but he'd become used to it after two months. The sky was perfect for watching the stars, so much so that he almost wished he knew what some of the constellations were. Out in the middle of the ocean, there was no one to bother him and little to worry about.

"Hey man," Raijin called out, popping his head up from below deck. "Fu and I are gonna turn in, seeing as we got an early morning, ya know?"

"Night," Seifer said, hardly sparing his close friend the attention it took to comprehend the unnecessary bit of information.

"Hey Seifer," the burly fisherman spoke further, a hesitancy in his tone that implied he had something on his mind but wasn't sure how to vocalize it.

Attention successfully caught, Seifer sat up with an exaggerated groan. He could sense Raijin's reluctance to follow through, but he was hardly interested enough to pressure the man.

Silent for a long while, the dark haired man eventually gave a gruff sigh before slowly making his way closer. Taking a seat beside the former knight, he scratched the back of his head nervously. "I don't usually do the whole counseling shit, ya know? But, I figure you could understand where I'm coming from, ya know?"

Nodding in agreement, Seifer considered that their past together left them with many shared experiences.

"The thing is, you know Fu and I have been dating for a while, right?"

Scoffing, Seifer pointed out, "It's not that big a boat. I half wonder who's fucking who in your little relationship."

Blushing deeply, the large framed man coughed under the sudden embarrassment he was placed. "You could have said something sooner, ya know? I wouldn't have, I mean, we wouldn't have…"

Waving his hand, Seifer indicated that it was of little consequence.

"Anyway, the thing is, up until a couple days ago Fu thought she was pregnant."

Eyebrows rising, Seifer drew his attention from the sky and gave it wholly to Raijin. "You shitting me?" He questioned with obvious amazement at what had transpired without his knowledge.

"We wanted to be sure, which was why we were gonna go to the doc's office as soon as we docked tomorrow. But, it was a false alarm, ya know?"

Suddenly recalling that Raijin was trying to seek counsel on the basis that he could relate to such a situation, the blond frowned. "What's the problem?"

"I love Fu, man. I really do. But, when she mentioned having a kid, I was 'bout ready to abandon ship, ya know?"

Laughing at the imagery that came to mind, Seifer gave the larger man a firm pat on the back. "Fujin would have fished you right back out and put you through a lifetime of hell."

Giving a shiver, Raijin grimaced. "Don't I know it."

"What's your issue here if she's not knocked up?"

"It's just, I feel bad about it, ya know? She wasn't too happy about it either, but I was ready to leave her. I know she'd be fine without me, kinda like how Leonhart could manage, ya know? But, I don't know man. I figure you could tell me what you had going through your head when you decided to join us and not stay with the kid."

"What the fuck are you talking about? Did Fujin ride you too hard or something?" Seifer questioned with unmasked annoyance.

Opening his mouth to reply, but promptly shutting it again as a confused look overcame him, Raijin stared at his blond buddy. At length, he explained, "I'm talking 'bout Leonhart and your kid. I guess it's different 'cause you've been gone so long, so it's not really like its yours, ya know? But, you didn't seem bothered when you came here. I thought you could tell me what you thought about it all."

"What the fuck?" Seifer remarked, now becoming angry at the implications only his subconscious seemed to have worked out. "What the hell do you mean Leonhart and my kid?"

Dark brown eyes stared in uncertainty, darting to the entrance leading below deck as if begging for Fujin to come up and tell him he wasn't mistaken. "Your son," he said, hoping the changed term from 'kid' to 'son' clarified it all.

"I don't have a damn son. When done properly, you can have sex without getting someone pregnant. I guarantee you there are no little Almasys running around."

"Do you really not know or is this that denial shit people talk about?" Raijin returned, his confidence still set behind what he'd known for the past several years.

Frowning, Seifer questioned, "Denial?"

"About your kid," Raijin clarified, becoming extremely uncomfortable.

"I don't have a fucking kid," Seifer bit out, completely forgetting about the mention of his rival.

"Yes you do," Raijin stated, his own agitation growing. It was like being told that two plus two didn't equal four, and while he was so positive that it did equal four, Seifer was someone he'd always looked up to and trusted so explicitly that he began to doubt the sum of the numbers.

"LORE," Fujin called out, approaching silently as only she could do.

"Well if it isn't the mother who could have been," Seifer said in greeting.

"Yeah, that was the kid's name," Raijin spoke with a note of relief, as if Fujin had just proved he wasn't going insane.

"EXPLAIN," Fujin bit out once more.

Complying as if it were second nature to heed the silver haired woman's every command, Raijin started with, "Lore is the freak baby."

"MORON," came the next spoken word from the tightlipped woman. Sidling closer, choosing to stand, Fujin leaned against the rail and squinted her single red eye as it adjusted to the darkness.

"Well, it is a freak baby, ya know?" Raijin defended, only using the phrase because that's what so many people called it.

"Lore?" Seifer spoke in question, both angry and intrigued now that Fujin seemed to back Raijin up. While he might doubt the pair separately, if they were ever in agreement, he'd believe them if they told him the world was flat.

"Shit man, I'm sorry," Raijin continued, stumbling over his words. "I thought you knew. I didn't say nothin' sooner 'cause it seemed like it mighta been a sore topic."

"For fuck's sake, just give me the basics so I'm not lost," the ex-knight ground out, jaw clenching in annoyance. He hated not knowing exactly what was going on. It was the control freak inside him.

"Since you went to see Leonhart like we suggested, we figured you already knew everything. It's not really a secret I guess."

Running a hand over his stubble-ridden jaw, Seifer growled out his impatience.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Raijin explained, "With a little help from Ultimecia, you knocked Leonhart up. It was all hush-hush for months, but he was like a figurehead and still Commander, so eventually it leaked. Man, even I was embarrassed for him, seeing those pictures of him like he'd eaten a watermelon or something."

"MORON," Fujin intoned once more, shaking her head at the idiotic description of a pregnant person.

Horrified for a fleeting moment, knowing that there were countless instances when he'd been under Ultimecia's complete control and couldn't even remember large chunks of time, Seifer shook his head. It was utterly ridiculous. "If this is your idea of revenge over the fish under your mattress, it's a pathetic try." Standing up, he glared down at the dark haired man.

"It's not a joke. I'm totally serious, ya know?"

"You can't be serious when tell me that Leonhart was knocked up with my kid," Seifer hissed out, finding no humor in the gag whatsoever.

Unable to figure a more believable way to word it, Raijin looked to Fujin for help. When the woman did nothing but shrug, he mimicked her and gave up.

"You two assholes must have cabin fever to think that shit is funny," Seifer commented as he stalked away.

---

An entire night of tossing restlessly left Seifer with some frightening conclusions. It had been a very long process of putting facts into place.

First, his posse had a very good sense of humor, one that was basically an extension of his own. The conversation they'd had was not a joke, which led him to consider any serious illnesses they might have suffered from. Cabin fever had been top of the list, but they were more weathered for the seas than himself and he felt perfectly sound of mind.

His thoughtful focus centered on the odd vibes he'd detected from every member of the merry bunch of do-gooders. The cowboy and messenger girl had obviously been withholding something from him, and Leonhart had been particularly weird for the entirety of his short visit.

He needed proof. He needed to see pictures or documentation of the event. He needed to watch as a doctor performed a blood test twice over to make sure the results could be trusted. He needed to see a psychiatrist to make sure he hadn't gone insane and to make sure that if it wasn't him, then that everyone else hadn't lost it.

Muttering darkly to himself, he cast his blanket aside and gave up on sleep after five hours of remaining in bed. Sadly, even the peace of sipping a cup of coffee while watching the sunrise brought him no answers or comfort.

"You okay man?" Raijin questioned, cautiously approaching. Stifling a yawn, dark brown eyes watering, he gazed at his friend in concern. Silence was not something often associated with Seifer, so when no reply came, his concern increased.

"This isn't exactly something I can believe," Seifer eventually spoke, settling on the simple statement to express his growing distress. He was becoming upset with the lack of confidence he felt, hating to ever feel unsure of himself or anything else.

"I know what you mean," Raijin assured. "I was pretty surprised too. I've never met the kid or nothin', so I didn't really believe it at first, ya know?"

"Then why do you believe it now?"

"Well, there were the pictures in the paper. It was pretty hard to deny what you could see, ya know?"

"Pictures can be doctored. They might have been fakes. What real proof do you have?" Seifer returned logically.

"I thought that too at first. Then after there was nothing else on the news but Leonhart, he resigned from being a commander and just disappeared. I think that's when I really started to believe it. He was like the prodigy leader or something. For him to up and leave meant that he was really having a kid and that it wasn't something he could do when everyone suddenly knew."

Seifer just scoffed, but cast a glance behind to indicate he was still listening. Though his instinct was to assume the resigning stunt had just been Leonhart cracking under all the pressure, he was willing to hear more.

Sighing, Raijin moved closer, no longer afraid the blond would lash out and flip him over the rail. He might have been stronger with brute strength, but he didn't doubt that Seifer could beat him up without breaking a sweat. "The next thing anyone knew, he had a baby with him and the watermelon was gone," the larger man explained.

With a dry laugh at the burly man's continued reference to a watermelon, Seifer concluded that he had a few things to do when they docked in a couple hours. "He never said anything," the blond murmured, his expression hardening.

"Who?" Raijin questioned, already figuring the who part, but not wanting to leave any room for guessing after going two months on the assumption that Seifer already knew everything.

"Leonhart," the ex-knight answered. "I was at his place and I saw the kid. What was his name?"

Thinking a moment, Raijin recalled what Fujin had said last night. "Lore," he answered.

"That's a stupid name," Seifer commented. "Lore," he mumbled to himself, attempting to think for the first time that it was the name of his son.

Ambivalent about the name, Raijin just shrugged noncommittally.

"I was there for maybe fifteen minutes, give or take. The cowboy was there, giving me hell about all these rules. I was sick to death of those idiots all walking around like they held weekly orgies and decided to have babies together."

"That's sick man," Raijin commented, referring to the ex-knight's perception of it than the actual underlying issue about mercenaries starting families.

"The kid had really dark hair like Rinoa. I just assumed it was her spawn after hearing how she jumped into bed with Leonhart, pitying the virgin hero and all. I figured she'd gotten scared and left the snot nosed brat with him, knowing the pussy wouldn't complain."

"Do you really hate him?" Raijin questioned, hearing the utter distain in the blond's voice and wondering what Leonhart had done that was so wrong. As a former member of the disciplinary committee, he'd done his fair share of bullying to the pretty boy hero, but he'd never really disliked the guy. It seemed kind of harsh that Seifer was still so hateful after all that had happened.

"Of course I hate him," Seifer hissed. "More so after meeting with him last time. He's such a little freak now. The kid's bedroom had lions everywhere and he was acting like such a pansy with the little shit, making hot cocoa and acting all soft."

"Seifer, he's like the kid's mom, what do you expect? That's what parents do, ya know?" Raijin defended, mildly upset on Leonhart's behalf at the unjust evaluation.

"The boy was crying like a little baby. There's no way it can be mine," the blond stated soundly. As a sudden thought occurred to him, Seifer barked with laughter. "Is Leonhart a girl now?"

Frowning, Raijin shook his head. "I don't know man. I never saw any proof to say he was a guy in the first place."

Laughing loudly, Seifer was quite amused at the joke, proof that his friends really did have a good sense of humor. It was one matter if Leonhart had become as much an outward expression of the freak within by becoming pregnant, but it was another to consider that it was also his kid. He refused to believe that the boy he'd seen in the apartment was related to him.

---

"Hey doc," Seifer called out, wading through the sea of sick invalids, most of whom were underclassmen that deserved the injuries they had.

"Mr. Almasy," Kadowaki spoke with surprise, looking up from her chart. "I'm curious as to how you passed through the gates without sounding any alarms, or should I expect a dozen more patients?"

"Security must be lax these days," the blond commented, smirking at the trouble he'd be happy to stir up by being seen on the way out. It probably wouldn't sit well with Xu or Kramer if Ultimecia's knight casually waltzed out of Balamb Garden after managing to get in unnoticed.

"As you can see, I have more patients than I know what to do with, so please take a seat and wait your turn."

Shaking his head and striding closer, Seifer explained, "Seniority rules doc. I got years on all these newbies, so let's talk some place private."

Scowling at the arrogant ex-knight, the older woman huffed indignantly. "I might be getting old, but I've hardly become susceptible to your bullying. Wait in my office or out here. Either way, you have about twenty patients ahead of you." Calling the next name on her list, she turned and walked back into the examination room.

Not one to give up so easily or go down without a fight, Seifer tailed the woman and made certain to stay as close as possible. He gave her credit for managing nearly half the number of patients she'd set out to treat before cracking. It was rather difficult to bandage and heal properly with someone of his stature loomed over her shoulder the whole time.

"Goodness gracious Mr. Almasy, must you be so obstinate?"

"It's gotten me this far in life," the former knight said with a grin.

Closing the door after treating a first year cadet with lacerations from the whipping arms of a Grat, she turned about with a huff. With just the two of them in the room, she set her hands on her hips and stared sternly at the young man. After dealing with him since the first day he'd arrived at Garden, she thought she'd become accustom to it all.

"Recently, I was informed of Leonhart's supposed pregnancy. What can you tell about it?" Seifer spoke, getting right to the point.

Eyebrows shooting high in obvious surprise, the graying doctor of fifty-four stared for a long moment. Caught off guard for only a moment, her expression quickly changed to that of a stern scowl. Stalking forward, her accusing index finger poked the knight's chest in such a manner that the large fighter started taking several steps back in retreat. "Am I to understand you're only asking such a question now?" she reprimanded.

Rubbing his chest, Seifer sent her a withering glare. "Jeez, you're lucky I draw the line at beating up old ladies, sixty years younger and you'd be in trouble."

Unfazed by the insult, Kadowaki chastised, "Mr. Almasy, you have returned to us safely for which I thank Hyne every day. However, I have half a mind to send you right back if you have honestly spent nearly three months without so much as spending time with your son."

"Well if I'd known it was my son, maybe I would have," Seifer shot back heatedly. In truth, he probably wouldn't have, but as it turned out he had a decent defense working for him. "No one thought to tell me. If you expected me to have guessed on my own then you're delusional."

Shoulders slouching, Kadowaki's lips pressed tightly together. With a heavy sigh, she shook her head. "That young man is the most stubborn piece of work I've ever seen," she commented to herself.

"Proof woman, I want proof," Seifer bit out impatiently. No one seemed capable of just getting to the point anymore.

"The proof is a six year old little boy named Lore, Mr. Almasy. What more proof would you like?"

Rolling his eyes, Seifer pointed out, "I want proof that a man had the damn thing, and irrefutable proof that it shares my DNA."

"A child is not a thing, Mr. Almasy, and if you continue to refer to Lore as such, you'll find that I will not be as appeasing to your bossy whims."

Running a frustrated hand through slicked back hair, Seifer bit out, "Just tell me what I want to know. How did it happen? When did it happen? Why wasn't I told?"

"Take a seat," the doctor ordered, gesturing to the padded examination table while she pulled a stool up. Folding her hands in her lap, she waited for the ex-knight to comply before speaking. "While I aided in much of the study Dr. Odine did, I'm afraid a lot is still unknown to even a genius such as him."

Seifer pulled a disbelieving face at hearing the quack madman referred to as a genius.

Firmly believing that Seifer deserved to know the details, Kadowaki was content to explain what the former commander had chosen to keep secret. "Squall suspects the impregnation occurred during his capture after a failed mission. I believe it was while Edea Kramer was still possessed."

"D-district prison," Seifer spoke in remembrance.

"Yes," Kadowaki said with a nod, keenly searching for some sign that the blond remembered how it happened. Squall adamantly protested knowing anything about it, and considering the former knight came to her for answers, she had to assume he truly knew nothing himself.

Swallowing thickly, feeling a touch sick, Seifer forced the idea that he might have had sex with Leonhart out of his head. While he couldn't really piece together a scenario that involved a child forming between them without one of them getting screwed, he refused to believe that was the case.

Recalling the day Squall had first sought her help, Kadowaki gave a wry smile. "He was so calm about it all. I think he suspected something before the war was even over. By the time he came to me he was already into his second trimester."

"His what?" Seifer questioned, oddly not caring that he was being giving the extended version of the story.

"He was already three months along. He was beginning to show, but he hid it well. No one knew," the older woman explained. "He came right in to me and sat down. I think the biggest trouble he had was trying to explain it so I wouldn't think he'd gone insane." Chuckling at the memory of the pale brunet sighing several times before finally speaking up, she regarded the blond knight solemnly. "He remained here for another few weeks, but his luck ran out and reporters and photographers happened to be there. Do you know, he asked me if there was any sort of disease or tumor that could have accounted for it?"

"Denial?" Seifer muttered in question.

"No, he just wanted me to sign off on some false medical report that explained the growth as something other than pregnancy. He wanted to give the newspapers something else to categorize it as because he was determined to remain Commander."

Seifer laughed abruptly, imagining that Raijin might have suggested diagnosing it as a watermelon grown from a swallowed seed.

"It's hardly a laughing matter," Kadowaki reprimanded. "He was forced to resign to escape. It was terribly sad for all of us."

"Sad?" Seifer scoffed incredulously.

"The look in his eyes," the doctor explained. "It was like he thought he deserved it, the burden that sorceress placed on him. He just accepted it like it was his fate to go through such an ordeal."

"Women have babies all the time. What exactly is such an ordeal about it?"

"Mr. Almasy, think of the mindset it would create. I can't imagine any normal man not feeling utterly humiliated. The rumors that spread were vicious. No one seemed to care about what he'd done in the war, only that he was pregnant. Some of those headlines brought tears to my eyes." Frowning, she wrung her hands at the lingering emotions she felt. "They painted him as some freak. Can you imagine?"

Not replying, Seifer felt a small pang of guilt.

"Some people jumped to conclusions, assuming he must have been involved with another man. I mean it was all just ridiculous and mean spirited." While she wouldn't speak about it so openly, in her head she understood the intricacies of what happened. Being in a homosexual relationship would have been bad enough for the commander, but to top it all off, the world clearly assumed what role he would have taken on in such a relationship. It just crushed his reputation and he had too much to deal with to try and salvage anything.

"I thought I was the father," he pointed out, itching to get the part where he received proof that he was indeed the child's father. Gay or straight, none of it really mattered for the average person, but he could see the amusing headlines that declared Leonhart as some screw boy commander that loved it up the ass.

"You are, but no one else knows that," Kadowaki assured.

Easily giving examples that refuted the woman's statement, he said, "Raijin and Fujin know. Kinneas and Tilmitt know."

"They're friends," the doctor excused as if it were common sense. "After seven years, you can't blame Squall for wanting to honor your name and admit that your bloodline was carried on."

Jade green eyes widened in surprise. Honor his name? What the hell? While Leonhart was hardly the type to commemorate his death, he'd sooner expect to be honored in the form of his gravestone being pissed on.

"In any case, it was a strange pregnancy," Kadowaki continued. "Physically, Squall shouldn't have been capable of carrying a child. There was no womb and nothing of a proper birth canal, just a growing fetus that seemed to exist outside the laws of rationality."

Cringing at the concept of a birth canal, Seifer was on guard to stop the doctor from speaking about the actual birth if she began to go that direction. "So, how'd the conception happen? You must have theories."

Shoulders slouching, the doctor stated, "Sorcery is the only explanation. It's hardly an understandable one, but it's all we've been able to come up with."

"And the paternity tests. How are you certain it's mine?" Seifer felt an odd emotion spark inside of him, referring to the kid as his own for the first time. He hated kids, all kids. Still, he needed to find the answers to everything.

"At first it simply made the most sense. Figuring out the motive for what Ultimecia did was obviously essential. You were her knight, so it stands to reason that she would have used you in the process. Squall suspected it was an attempt at creating a better knight, one she could raise and control completely."

With a small grunt of agreement, Seifer considered the theory. He had begun to fight her control at times, which could very well have made him an unsuitable knight. However, there was one major flaw in it. "Why have Leonhart carry the baby?" he questioned.

Smiling, the older woman regarded the ex-knight with curiosity. "That's exactly what Squall kept wondering. The truth is, we just don't know."

Shivering at the thought of Ultimecia impregnating him, he shifted uncomfortably. He'd just leave well enough alone and decide it was because Squall looked like a woman.

Taking her glasses off and letting them hang from her neck, Kadowaki mentally sorted through the long list of questions and answers surrounding the affair. "We ran blood tests to figure the father or perhaps mother out. There was fear that it was Ultimecia's child, implanted in Squall because she'd foreseen her demise. There was also the chance that Squall was the only parent or that the child was a clone of some sort."

Seifer stared pensively at the floor below. While he would have liked to be told less about Squall's role in it all, he couldn't deny that it was impossible to not listen. In a strange way it was entirely fascinating.

"You were one of the top names on the list of possible parents. We tested all you boys, seeing as how you were all in contact with Ultimecia."

Seifer frowned, suddenly recalling the image of Leonhart and the cowboy together before he'd informed the two of his presence. He wasn't sure why he thought back to that brief instance, but he did.

"If you want further proof, I can perform the tests again. I admit that I have been quite the skeptic in all of this. When I last came to see you, the blood I drew served more than one purpose. There was always the slight possibility that the blood used from the sample you left right before your field test seven years ago was faulty in some way."

"Are you accusing me of switching blood with someone?" Seifer questioned, not exactly insulted if that were indeed the accusation.

"It happens, even as mix ups in the lab," Kadowaki returned sensibly. "It was also a fairly old sample."

Sighing in defeat, Seifer felt his denial shatter. He couldn't very well wait for the entire world to tell him the same thing over and over again before finally believing it. "Thanks doc," he said, hopping from his place on the table.

Standing with her clipboard held close, the older woman questioned, "Would you like to redo the tests, or perhaps have a look at the some of the files?"

"No, it's fine. I don't see why anyone would make this shit up, so I'll have to assume it's true."

Smiling brightly, feeling as though things had been set straight, Kadowaki nodded her understanding. "Lore is such a dear. I hate to admit it, but I had my doubts about Squall raising that child. But since the day his son was born, Squall has been nothing short of all the family that boy will ever need."

Walking to the door, Seifer chose not to comment on the last bit of information. He had an old rival to see and a bone to pick.


	5. Chapter 5

Defining Love

Chapter Five

Beyond grateful that it was Friday, Squall stepped off the elevator and walked toward the last stop of the day. Toting a backpack full of schoolwork for a first grader, a laptop case with both files and computer that was threatening to slip from his shoulder, and a sleeping six year old, he carefully keyed in the code for the lock and slid his card through.

He sighed in relief when the familiar beep of the door unlocking sounded. While he had enough work to keep him busy even on his day off Saturday, he was actually relieved that Lore didn't have school for the next couple days. He didn't seem able to go more than that before being hounded by the school's assistant principal.

Called in for the most ridiculous of reasons, he was seriously considering just hiring a private tutor. He only kept his son going to school for the sake of social interaction, which everyone assured him was vital despite his disposition on it.

Only an hour ago, he'd sat there listening to yet another academic evaluation that the school felt was so important. While he was certainly interested in what Lore learned and making sure the boy was doing well, he didn't need to have parent teacher meetings twice a week that ended in a supposedly innocent run in with Mrs. Strous, the assistant principal at Mercy Elementary School. It also seemed completely innocent when the thirty something year old woman flirted with him shamelessly, never mind that she was married to a member of parliament.

Younger than most fathers who were able to afford sending their children to the private school, Squall could do without being hit on in the presence of his own son. While he considered complaining, it really just wasn't worth any more of his time than the five minutes it took to hear out her proposal for drinks and give a terse reply about being busy.

Closing the door with a gentle click, assured by the slightly longer beep that the door was relocked, he gave his eyes a moment to adjust to the dimness. There were nightlights spaced throughout the apartment, and he'd rather delay a few moments to adjust his sight than wake Lore up by flipping any brighter lights on.

It was past Lore's bedtime, but that was often the consequence of not trusting babysitters and bringing the boy with him even when he was just dropping something off in Balamb Garden. Lore loved to ride in ships, so it did work out nicely.

Letting the book bag slide from one shoulder to the ground, he repeated the same move with his laptop case, though a bit more careful. He bent to the side awkwardly so it didn't impact too hard.

Gently shifting the weight of his son in his arms, he stepped out of the entryway. Intent on putting Lore to bed, he stopped abruptly. Staring for a tense moment at the figure on his couch, it was only a fraction of second later that the cocking click of his M-9 Pistol sounded and the gun was aimed at the intruder.

Seifer didn't move. Though alarmed at the extreme reaction, he was more concerned that his rival had acted on a level of instinct that implied the intrusion was both expected and feared. Fear was not something Leonhart ever showed, which was cause for concern. Not his concern, but concern all the same.

Eyes narrowed, Squall eased off. Holstering his gun, he felt a wave of nausea wash over him. He never felt so pathetic as when he felt alarm in the presence of Lore. He could have held the gun steady for hours, but inside he'd have been a mess. It wasn't the same when he was in the field, but with Lore nearby it was so different. He went to great lengths to protect the lives of mercenaries under his care, but he never became frightened when they were in danger. Yet a single mistake of seeing Seifer there and fearing the worst, he practically trembled like a first year cadet facing battle for the first time.

Angrily, the brunet glared at the ex-knight, blaming the man for the emotions that coursed through him.

"We need to talk," Seifer stated, remaining in place. Seated leisurely on the couch, he'd been waiting for two hours.

Not speaking, Squall continued to walk across the flat. Mentally cursing the brash and arrogant blond, he entered Lore's bedroom. It only took a few minutes to change his son out of the stiff school uniform and into a pair of pajamas. Calming down, he carefully drew the covers over the boy's small form and silently left the dark room.

With a tired stride, Squall returned to the living room. Shrugging out of his bomber jacket, the holster for his gun placed high along at the side of his torso, he tossed the worn garment to a nearby chair. Crossing his arms, he stood before the blond knight in silent demand for an explanation.

Figuring there could only be one thing that brought Seifer back, Squall was prepared for anything ranging from anger to hysteria. However, given they both had a reason to be upset with one another, he hadn't expected for the blond to tower before him and promptly swing an angry fist.

Sadly, Squall did not manage to dodge in time and took the brunt of the hard blow on the left side of his jaw. Lip split, the tang of blood quickly reached his tongue. Ready for the second punch, almost hopeful that it would come so he could return something in equal, he was disappointed when Seifer did nothing but glare down at him.

Straightening up, Squall returned the glare, refusing to back down.

"Give me one good reason for doing what you did," Seifer said, his voice taunting in dare.

"…" Squall didn't respond, knowing it was a no win situation. If he dared to supply an answer, Seifer would lash out. If he remained silent, Seifer would either lash out all the same or continue to goad him.

Jaw clenching, Seifer was suddenly enraged by that cool expression that seemed entirely unaffected by everything. With a left hook that was expectedly blocked, he swung a swift punch with his other fist to the brunet's gut. The hard impact would have sent a lesser man collapsing to the ground, heaving any contents of the stomach up.

Grunting as the wind was knocked from him, Squall quickly retaliated. Not surprised that both his punches were blocked, he didn't hold back as he gave a feinting knee to the stomach before ducking and sweeping the larger man off his feet.

In no mood to play when the noise they'd already made had likely woken Lore up, Squall drew his gun once more. While Seifer had time to roll over and begin standing, the end of his weapon was already pointed at the man's head. "Don't fuck with me, Almasy," he hissed. "You wanna start something, then do it elsewhere."

"Daddy," came the quiet call from behind.

Mortified at the scene Lore must have stumbled upon, Squall quickly lowered his gun, holstering it without second thought to the blond he'd been keeping at bay. Turning around, he attempted a reassuring smile. Sudden relief filled him as he watched the small boy stumble out from the hall, blearily rubbing at sleepy eyes that hadn't seen a thing.

Seifer angrily stalked into the kitchen as his first thoughts of seeing the little runt enter the room was that the lighting wasn't good enough to get a decent look. He wasn't there to visit the child. He was there to have it out with Leonhart for daring to keep something like this from him.

Grateful that Seifer wasn't going to start something again, Squall turned his complete attention to his son. Licking his lip, he felt the sting of the cut, but felt confident it wouldn't be very noticeable, especially in the dim glow of the nearby nightlight. "Did we wake you up?" he questioned softly, approaching the boy. From behind, the kitchen light was turned on, illuminating the living room slightly.

"I heard a noise, like something fell," Lore explained, casting a searching gaze around the room.

"Our guest got a little tripped up," Squall answered, finding it was difficult to lie unnecessarily. A distortion of the truth was usually fine, but generally he felt guilty about lying to Lore. "Go back to bed," he urged gently.

As a small frown overtook the boy's features, a protest threatening to be spoken, Lore gazed towards the kitchen with interest. "Can I have a drink?" he requested, obviously intent on joining his father to retrieve the drink.

"I'll bring it to you in bed. What would you like?" Squall returned, almost smiling at the valiant attempt made. He was a bit disturbed by Lore's seeming curiosity in Seifer, considering the boy usually shied away from strangers.

A thoughtful look of concentration came to Lore's face. After a long moment, he smiled. "I don't know, but I'll know if I look."

Squall did laugh at this, quite amused at the boy's mischievous intellect. "Is that how it works?" he muttered in doubtful question. "If I make you hot chocolate will you go back to bed and stay there?"

Bright blue-green eyes were torn. It wasn't often a late night glass of water was traded in for a really chocolaty cup of hot cocoa. Generally only done when he was sick or had done something good, he debated the pros and cons. "Can I sleep in your bed tonight?" he requested, upping the bargain. Whenever possible, he always made the request for sleeping in the big bed with the comforting scents of his father around.

"You're already six, do you really want to keep sleeping in my bed?" Squall questioned. He had every intention of agreeing to the request, not wanting to chance Seifer doing something in front of his son, but Lore would have suspected something if he'd been a complete push over about it. The boy was very perceptive, which wasn't always a good thing.

Nodding enthusiastically, Lore's decision was already made.

"Okay," Squall conceded, making a mental note to check with Dr. Kadowaki on whether Lore should have already outgrown the constant want to sleep with him.

"Can it have extra chocolate?" came the excited request, eyes wide in a pleading manner.

Fearing the boy would never get to sleep with all the sugar, Squall simply said, "I'll see if there's enough left."

"Cool," Lore exclaimed before rushing off.

"No jumping on the bed," Squall called out at the sound of his son laughing and the unmistakable flopping of a body landing on the mattress. He could only wish to have such endless energy, asleep one moment and jumping on the bed the next.

Staring toward the dim hallway, Squall eventually turned around with due a sense of dread. As he made his way to the kitchen, déjà vu set in. Not seated at the table like last time, Seifer leaned against the island counter, arms crossed and green eyes watching him from the moment he came into view. Feeling as though he were walking around naked, Squall tried not to squirm under the intense gaze.

Standing in place for a moment, Squall gave Seifer the opportunity to speak first. However, when the blond simply stared at him, he moved forward.

"I don't have all night," Seifer stated impatiently, arm shooting out to block the brunet's progress.

Scowling, Squall looked up at the ex-knight. "What do you want me to say?" he questioned evenly.

"What you should have the last time I was here," the blond answered.

Sighing, Squall pointed out, "I can talk and boil water at the same time."

Rolling his eyes, having heard every word passed between the dark haired duo, Seifer lowered his arm. "Full sentences Leonhart. I want the facts and at least five good reasons why you didn't say a fucking thing."

"I imagine you already know everything," Squall shot back. "As for why I didn't say anything, I couldn't count on you not feeling some sense of responsibility, despite your track record."

"Sense of responsibility?" Seifer scoffed in disbelief. "What responsibility?"

"To be his father," Squall answered simply. The idea of Seifer becoming apart of Lore's life felt threatening. It was pathetic and petty to feel that way, but he was actually more afraid of some relationship forming between the former knight and his son than he was of burdening the blond with responsibility.

A biting retort fell dead on Seifer's tongue as he suddenly considered Leonhart's words. "I hate kids," he muttered.

"You said that last time too." Moving from the stove to the sink, Squall filled the kettle with water.

"Is that why you were acting weird and asking me shit about my dreams? Some noble decision to let me live my life without feeling guilty that I have a kid?"

"…" Though wanting to clarify that it was hardly some attempt at being noble, the rest of it was fairly accurate, so Squall didn't say anything. In the end, his actions were far more self-serving than anyone else would know.

Jaw clenching as he watched his rival's emotionless expression, Seifer said, "Look, Boy Wonder, the last person who tried to interfere in my life wound up dead. You don't know shit about me."

"Duly noted," the brunet muttered darkly under his breath. Kettle placed on the stovetop once more, he had nothing to keep him busy.

Silence followed for a long couple of minutes. Finally, Seifer gave into his growing urges and commented, "So, you were knocked up." A smile kept his face from remaining serious. As choking laughter began to escape, he rushed to add on, "What was it like?"

Throwing the immature bastard a cold glare, Squall refused to comment.

Laughing until he was sure frostbite would set in, Seifer wiped fake tears from his eyes. "I always said you looked like a girl. So tell me, have you always been disguising yourself as a guy or did Ultimecia really just turn you into a chick?"

Speaking through gritted teeth, Squall shot back in shaking fury, "I'm more of a man than you could ever be."

"Says the boy who became pregnant," Seifer mocked.

"What do you want here, Seifer?" Squall hissed out in question. He wouldn't let the blond bastard take his son away.

"To marry you and complete your little family," the blond answered sarcastically.

"He doesn't know about you," Squall stated.

"Who?"

Grudgingly, Squall forced himself to clarify, "Your son." It hurt to say it, to admit that while he'd raised the boy and been as good a father as he could, Seifer was still just as much the child's father as he was. It wasn't fair.

"You say that with such conviction," the ex-knight replied. "Don't get your panties in a twist. He's not my son and I have no intention of trying to be his dad. Men as sexy as myself don't have kids, it's against the code."

Visible relief overcame Squall's features, his eyes softening and lips lessening their frown. Oddly, he felt rather guilty. Against his better judgment, he said, "If you wanted to meet him or anything, it'd be fine."

Studying Leonhart's solemn expression and grey-blue eyes that held both uncertainty and an odd look of sincerity, Seifer answered seriously, "I'm not looking to become his big brother or start any lasting relationships. But, if the fancy strikes, I might take you up on the offer."

Nodding his understanding, Squall turned away and set about making Lore's drink.

"Make me one too," Seifer said, his tone more demanding than requesting.

Brows furrowed in confusion, Squall regarded the knight with disbelief.

"I've been waiting for your sorry ass to get back and now I'm thirsty."

Eyes widening in sudden remembrance, Squall bit out, "How did you get in?"

Scoffing, Seifer gave a noncommittal shrug. "You might want to consider getting a better security system and replace that guard down there with someone who isn't susceptible to my charms."

Scowling, Squall glared at the tall blond. "If there's a next time, I won't hesitate to shoot," he stated evenly, the icy gleam in his eyes informing the ex-knight that he was entirely serious.

Giving a mock shiver, Seifer commented, "That's cold Leonhart, real cold."

Turning away, scowl still in place, Squall angrily yanked a cupboard open. Not high enough for him to struggle, the shelf with all the mugs required that he raise up on the balls of his feet. With more force than necessary, he set Lore's mug down with a thud. Before he reached up once more, he cast an uncertain look over his shoulder. "Do you seriously want it or is this just some other manner of making fun of me?"

"A little of both," Seifer said with a smirk. Standing straight, he moved further away to the other side of the large kitchen and took a seat at the table.

Sighing, Squall tried to release some of his anger. No one pissed him off like Seifer. He felt like chucking the second mug at the ex-knight's head, but he kept his cool and simply settled for making Seifer's cup while the water was still scalding.

---

Seated at an inconspicuous table in a low-key café, Seifer glared at the untouched drink placed before him. His hair was immaculately combed back and clothes wrinkle free despite wearing a casual t-shirt and loose fit denim pants. Believing himself to be Hyne's gift to woman, he couldn't let his appearance go just because he felt like brooding.

At the sound of the empty seat across from him scraping gently on the floor, he glanced up, not bothering to hide his annoyance at the sight of the cowboy. Kinneas had called him out in the first place, directing him to a place they could speak. However, he'd been waiting for ten minutes. His temper was running on a short fuse to begin with, which meant he was particularly unhappy at the moment.

Sitting down, Irvine gave a reassuring smile. "Sorry, I got a little held up."

Seifer's eyes never left their mark, staring narrowly into violet-blue ones. "Speak your peace, Kinneas. I don't have time for games or bullshit." Daring to touch his drink for the first time, he picked the plain white mug up by the handle and sipped the dark liquid. He set it down with a grimace, his mood suddenly plunging further into darkness.

"Did they bring you the wrong order?" Irvine questioned with passive interest. Raising his hand smoothly, he flagged a nearby waitress.

"No," Seifer answered, eyes now fixed on his drink. The chocolate liquid was now lukewarm after his initial refusal to try it.

Shaking his head, Irvine concluded that he probably didn't want to know what the former knight was thinking. Ordering lemon tea from a sparkly-eyed young woman, the gunman gave a false smile of appreciation before turning his attention back to the unfriendly ex-knight.

"What do you want?" Seifer pressed, hating how the world he'd returned to was full of fools incapable of getting straight to the point.

Clearing a scratchy throat, certain he was coming down with something, Irvine explained, "I want to know what happened with Squall."

Staring for a long moment, Seifer eventually mustered the will to play a little bit. "I don't kiss and tell."

"I see," Irvine muttered in dismay, realizing it wasn't going to be easy. Dragging something out of the loquacious knight was as difficult as it was to drag something out of the tightlipped commander. One man offered all the wrong words, while the other offered nothing.

His order arriving faster than expected, Irvine accepted the steaming drink with yet another forced smile. He didn't even have the urge to flirt with the young woman, finding nothing attractive about her C-cup breasts and small waist. Selphie's waist was smaller, and he quite liked his little lady's A-cup, but perky breasts.

Seifer rolled his eyes at the sight of the sharp shooting Galbadian eyeing the waitress. "Bring me a coffee, black," he muttered in request, sliding his unwanted cup of hot chocolate toward the edge of the table.

"Right away," came the reply.

Seifer was in a foul mood because he was experiencing some sort of brain malfunction that left him constantly thinking about everything he'd rather forget. When asked what he'd wanted to drink, he'd ordered hot cocoa. It was an utter disgrace to his reputation. The night before had been a one time deal, just him seizing the opportunity to annoy Squally-boy. Men like him drank beer, scotch, gin, whiskey, and every other alcoholic beverage except for martinis. Water was reserved for hangovers and workouts, juice for when one was sick, and milk for whenever the fancy struck. He even drank coffee on occasion, usually when he was in a café. He was supposed to have ordered coffee, but he'd ordered hot chocolate before realizing it.

The worst part of it was that he'd ordered it because he'd been thinking about the night before. He'd been analyzing the alarming feeling of calm that had come over him in Leonhart's kitchen the night before. He didn't know why he'd ordered it or why it mattered, but it did matter for some reason.

"Did you hit him?" Irvine asked, hoping the question served to capture the blond's attention once more.

"A couple times," Seifer admitted with a grin, finding being an ass took his mind off of things.

A grim determination for civility was all that kept Irvine from leaping across the table and waling on the ex-knight. The slight cut in Squall's bottom lip was hardly noticeable, but given the timing of Seifer's visit, he'd been certain the two were connected.

Easily picking up on the gunman's hostility, Seifer goaded, "I have half a mind to hit you too, but I've settled for the man who gave the orders."

"Short of keeping the fact that you have a son secret, don't touch Squall for any reason," Irvine drawled slowly, the threat conveyed in the sharpness of his eyes. "I don't fight fair," he reminded.

Brow quirking at the threat, Seifer debated giving an insulting retort, but decided against it. There was a good chance that the cowboy had a gun pointed at him beneath the table, and he wasn't much for playing games anyway. "Did you call me out here just to bark at me like a guard dog?"

Shaking his head, Irvine picked his cup of tea up and sipped carefully. "I wanted to know what you plan on doing now."

Growing rather solemn, Seifer regarded the gunman with a frown. He would also like to know the answer to that question. There seemed very little reason for him to stay, and yet there was an odd feeling growing inside of him that he couldn't quite place. As it was, he planned to spend another couple days in Esthar. While he would have liked to assure himself it was simply to see the sights, he couldn't deny that it was to give himself a little more time to think about matters.

"You obviously don't want to be involved with Squall or Lore, so why are you hesitating?"

Defensive about his current indecision, Seifer glared. "What exactly are you so afraid of?" he questioned in return. "You think my presence will interfere with your moonlighting in Leonhart's bed?"

Teeth gnashing at the accusation, Irvine fought through his annoyance, knowing the blond wanted to throw his attention elsewhere. "As Squall's best friend, I don't plan on sitting idly by while you put him through hell. It doesn't take a mind reader to know you aren't the type of man looking for a family."

"What an astute observation. I'm impressed, cowboy," Seifer said, his words drawled in a mocking twang of the gunman's Galbadian accent.

"If you're holding some grudge about the war, don't use this as some opportunity to get back at Squall," Irvine warned.

Rolling his eyes, Seifer sat back and crossed him arms. Pulling out the big guns, he stated, "Maybe I'd just like to lay Leonhart one more time. He was a surprisingly good fuck before, I didn't even need Ultimecia to force me."

"Fucking bastard!" Irvine cried, finally letting his anger get the best of him. Unsettling the small square table as he stood, the gunman closed the distance between them. Gripping the front of the ex-knight's forest green t-shirt, fist ready to fly, he stared.

Seifer smirked, waiting for the blow to come. When the cowboy backed off, he chuckled. "You've got more control than most," he commented with mirth.

Irvine ran a hand through his unbound hair, taking calming breaths to settle himself down. Seifer had been lying, an obvious lie that he'd nearly believed. "You're not worthy of being Lore's father. You don't even have the right to look at Squall," he hissed, abruptly stalking away.

Seifer watched the gunman's departure with mixed feelings. Angrily brooding over his continued uncertainty about leaving well enough alone, he disregarded Kinneas' words entirely. Could he just return to Fisherman's Horizon and forget about it all?

"Sir, your coffee," the waitress said, setting the drink down with a dull chink.

Nodding numbly, Seifer acknowledged that he'd been served his order. At every point in his life, he'd known what he wanted and had gone after it until it was his. He didn't want a kid or to be on civil terms with Leonhart. He wanted to return to Fisherman's Horizon and take a particularly long trip out to sea. Yet, he found himself delaying his stay in Esthar, unable to go after what he wanted.

Such circumstances begged the question, 'Did he really want to leave anymore?'


	6. Chapter 6

Defining Love

Chapter Six

"Was it really okay to just leave? It's not like it would matter now, but do you ever wish you'd at least met the kid, ya know?" Raijin questioned as he stared pensively at Seifer.

Together in Pop's Pub, they sat waiting for Fujin to show up. They were going to hash out plans for their next trip, and hopefully settle on the right coordinates and reel in the big catch they'd been after. They always met at the local bar to reach such decisions, finding the casual atmosphere to be far more workable than in the office. Their business had grown quite a bit, but the three of them were still the same lowly fishers at heart.

Jade-green eyes continued to scour the near vacant bar, attempting to find something distracting. Fingers absently tapping on the table, Seifer replied, "the kid never knew about me. It's not like I abandoned him." He loathed how it was so easy to ignore it all, but impossible to forget.

Raijin's dark brown eyes stared at the former knight for several moments. It was plain to see the blond wasn't entirely convinced of those words. The tone of conviction seemed false somehow. Perhaps he'd hit the nail on the head with this one. How could Seifer not have at least considered going to Esthar after all these years? This wasn't a simple or uncomplicated matter. While he'd respected Seifer's decision from the very beginning, he wondered if it was the best course of action.

Fingers still drumming, Seifer continued to stare past Raijin's shoulder. "It wasn't much of a choice when it was made clear that my presence was unwanted," Seifer muttered darkly.

Raijin sighed. "Seifer, who do you think you're talkin' to, ya know? That's total bullshit." Seeing the agitated gleam in dangerous green eyes, the burly fisherman elaborated in a more polite manner, "I ain't no head doctor, but it seems like you're trying to say you had no choice so that you don't feel guilty or something."

"Guilty?" Seifer scoffed in incredulity. "I don't do guilt."

"You've thought about it though, right?" Raijin questioned

"It's a little hard not to," Seifer stated lamely. "But that doesn't mean anything. What the hell would I have done with some kid? I'm not exactly the best role model. Besides, in the past ten years, how often have we been on the mainland?" It was rather bruising to his ego to admit that he might have put up with infrequent meetings with the snot nosed brat if only to satisfy his occasional curiosity about the boy. He'd never admit to it though. As far as his pride and everyone else was concerned, he still objected to the idea of mercenaries and families mixing.

With a small shrug, Raijin briefly tried to calculate the math. "Not a whole lot, I guess. But I mean, it's a weird thing, ya know?"

"What is?" the blond questioned, slowly being drawn into the conversation. His eyes settled on Raijin, preferring to give more attention rather than feigning disinterest.

Bristling uncomfortably for a moment, Raijin replied, "Being a dad and all, ya know?"

"I wouldn't know," Seifer stated evenly.

Shrugging once more, an attempt to dismiss any gravity to his words, Raijin commented, "I think it'd be weird, but a good kind of weird, ya know?"

Quirking a brow, Seifer eyed the man curiously. Something was up. The last time Raijin had been talking about children, he'd found out he had a son. Naturally, he was slightly wary of where Raijin was going with this. "Define 'good kind of weird'," the ex-knight grumbled.

Scratching the back of spiky black hair, Raijin blushed sheepishly. "It's not like we ever had parents to show us anything, ya know? But, you're always hearing how people do the opposite of what their parents did, so I figure it doesn't matter either way."

"Uh-huh," Seifer intoned with a bored inflection, wondering if he should stop Raijin before hearing something truly disturbing.

"I think it'd be weird to have a kid, but kind of nice, ya know?"

"Kind of nice," Seifer repeated slowly, eyeing Raijin suspiciously. "The last time we talked about you having kids, you said you wanted to jump ship, if I remember correctly."

Grinning despite the odd air between them, Raijin admitted, "It's been a while since then, ya know? When was that, like ten years ago?"

"Something like that," Seifer agreed.

Tens years of hauling in lines and nets, not to mention the upkeep of his skill with a gunblade, had left Seifer as fit and toned as ever. Hours under the sun each day left his skin richly tanned. At thirty-five, the finest of crows feet at the edges of his eyes were only noticeable because of the paler coloration after squinting continually in the bright light of day. His once well-mannered style of short and slicked back hair was now slightly unkempt, long enough to be tied back with a frame of shorter strands. If there was one thing that had changed, it was his need for appearances. Out in the middle of nowhere, it wasn't worth the trouble each morning when Fujin was the only woman within a day's voyage.

"Me 'n Fu are doing good, real good, ya know?" Raijin said, dark eyes gazing with an almost hopeful glint at their posse leader. "We've been dating for twelve years, not counting those three months we weren't speaking to each other."

Seifer scoffed, amused by the memory of being on the ship where they had no choice but to face each other every day. "So what, are you looking to get hitched?" he questioned, beginning to see where the brown skinned man's line of directive was going.

"There's that," Raijin began tentatively, "And there's other stuff."

Rolling his eyes, Seifer leaned back in his seat. He was hardly slow in understanding what his friend meant. At the sight of the white haired woman that completed their trio, he nodded his head in greeting, preparing himself for the news that had yet to be directly broken.

Fujin seemed unhappy as she roughly pulled a chair from a nearby table and dragged it over to sit in backwards. Legs spread to straddle the chair and back hunched as she leaned her arms against the back of it, her red eye glanced from one man to the other.

"Good timing," Raijin said, nervously fidgeting under Fujin's piercing gaze.

"So you're knocked up," Seifer said flatly, his lack of enthusiasm the same as disappointment.

"AFFIRMATIVE," Fujin answered, face set in a dark frown.

"You look like you want an abortion," the ex-knight observed aloud, no bars holding back the blunt words that rolled off his tongue.

Shrugging noncommittally, the white haired woman expressed her indifference on the matter. "FAT," she bit out tersely, obvious loathing the weight women universally gained in the nine-month span of bearing children.

Raijin chuckled. "You'll always look good to me, ya know?" he assured.

Seifer winced before anything even happened, knowing the inevitable kick to the shin was coming. With a sickening contact between Raijin's vulnerable shin and Fujin's steel-toed boot, the blond shook his head.

Doubled over to baby his leg, Raijin disappeared from green eyes' line of vision, beneath the table's edge. Turing an amused gaze to the violent woman, Seifer smirked. "You'll kill him at this rate," he commented on Raijin's behalf.

"FOOL," Fujin stated in explanation.

The blond simply nodded in agreement. Taking pity on the dark haired man, who was likely going to be limping now, Seifer said, "when Fujin mentions her weight again, don't say she'd look good fat. In fact, don't say anything at all."

With an agreeing nod of approval, Fujin accepted Seifer's words as sound advice that her future husband should heed.

Stretching his arms above his head, muscles shifting beneath the thin material of his faded red t-shirt, Seifer slouched in his seat. With a groan, he made himself more comfortable. "Why do I get the feeling our mission for the next big one is canceled indefinitely?"

Eyes glistening a bit, Raijin popped his head above the table. "Our trip ain't canceled man. But, in like… uh, around…"

Knocking her knuckles on the table, Fujin then extended her index finger and tapped it gently.

"Shit, once a month?" Raijin exclaimed.

"That's right genius," Seifer muttered. "Once a month, every month. Then you get to week twenty-eight, that's seven months out of the average nine, and those monthly visits turn into every two weeks."

"Hyne," Raijin groaned in complaint. "I hate doctors."

Barking with laughter, Seifer kindly added, "and that's if it's all by the book." He shared a glance with Fujin, both of them seeming to think the same thing.

After a moment of self-pity, Raijin raised his head from his hands and gazed curiously at the ex-knight across from him. "How do you know so much?"

Straightening a bit, Seifer defended his knowledge. "It's common shit. Why don't you know it?"

Fujin let her knuckles rap on the wooden table in three even paced hits. She smirked, her single eye sparkling with mischievous amusement. Throwing a quick glance to the man at her side, she gave a terse shake of her head.

"I agree with Fu, that's bullshit," Raijin intoned, sitting straight.

The corner of his mouth twitching as his grin faltered, Seifer shot the white haired woman a glare. "Fucking hell, I might enjoy leaving the business if it means not having to put up with you two."

"So," Raijin lilted. "For someone so disinterested in having kids, why do you know so much, ya know?"

Rolling his eyes, Seifer waved a hand to gesture that the answer was hardly much of a secret or cover up. "Remember Sharon?" he questioned impassively.

"PSYCHO," Fujin commented with a mock shiver to emphasize her word.

Shaking his head with a bemused smirk, Seifer waved his index finger to refute such a conclusion. "She wasn't psychotic, just enthusiastic. Besides, she was a Hyne damned monster in the sack, one of the best lays I've ever had."

"Are you like dodging the point here, ya know?" Raijin input, quite interested in hearing Seifer's best excuse. It was easy enough to corner the ex-knight when he had Fujin by his side. It was their balance of power.

"She was obsessed with prenatal crap, always walking around the apartment while spouting off the stuff she needed to know for her tests. It's hard not to know something when your girlfriend mumbles it in her fucking sleep."

Dark brown eyes widened slightly. "She was psycho," Raijin mumbled, belatedly agreeing with Fujin.

"Can we get back to what actually matters?" Seifer bit out testily. He quite agreed with the pair, Sharon had been rather deranged. Still, she was a blunt woman with a hot body. She was smart and he'd known from the beginning that in a matter of months, she'd leave for some graduate school in Deling City. Basically, he had an easy out of the relationship. If she'd been a total neat freak and obsessed with studying, then it had been at least something he was able to ignore.

Seeming to remember the rather grave discussion ahead, Raijin sobered. "I thought we'd have this last trip together, ya know?" he muttered dejectedly.

"AFFIRMATIVE," Fujin barked. She too had been under the assumption that pregnant women didn't need to really do much until they were ready to give birth. However, she'd just come from the small clinic in town and learned that there was a hell of a lot more involved than just waiting around for the baby to finish growing.

The conversation that followed was decidedly grim in nature despite the happy couple's plans for marriage and starting a family. Seifer was suddenly a third wheel, not factoring in to the change Raijin and Fujin were intent on making. Their company, Horizon Fresh Fish, had grown to the point where the loss of two of its three founders wouldn't put a very large dent in the prospering business.

While slightly bitter, Seifer couldn't deny that he'd seen it coming. In some ways, he'd been a third wheel since the beginning, though it was easier to just remain in denial. Raijin and Fujin had gone seven years without him and had managed just fine. Dating for way too long without getting married, it was foolish to think that they'd stay as a posse of three forever.

The trouble Seifer faced wasn't in regards to the venture they'd started together, but far more personal than that. It had never been about the business with them, though that had been a side benefit. Without Raijin and Fujin to sail with, he didn't exactly feel game for going himself. However, if he wasn't taking a ship out and at least manning the crew, then he had nothing left but to sit behind some desk and man the helm via paperwork.

In the ten years since the war had ended for him, he'd never ceased his training exercises and still felt the same loathing for anything that resembled the work of a desk jockey. In many ways, he was still a fighter. Perhaps just a fighter in waiting, secretly hoping the world would change back and there would once again be a need for mercenaries like him.

Selling the company wasn't necessarily the smartest decision Seifer had ever made, but next to joining Ultimecia it was looking pretty good. Besides, ten years was a decent amount of time to have done something he enjoyed, even if he'd have preferred more time than that.

Though he was financially taken care of, the ex-knight had a rather problematic situation to deal with once all the contracts were signed and titles handed over. There were very few things he knew how to do in life. And at some point the money would run out.

He knew how to be a mercenary and he knew how to be a fisherman. While his leadership skills were polished, he wouldn't get much farther than being the CEO of a small time fishing company, not when he'd nearly destroyed the world. And worse yet was his standing problem with authority, making it difficult to start at the bottom and not be fired before working his way up. There really wasn't any place for him to go.

The time of peace had lasted so long that many people were beginning to take it for granted. Though his name was a distant memory, his role as a knight was still not forgotten. Despite being manipulated into doing the sorceress' bidding, there were many devastated people who would never forgive him. It was for this reason that he questioned his sanity when deciding to move to Esthar.

As an honest man, he could not deny his curiosity over many matters. Perhaps it was Raijin and Fujin's decision to tie the knot and start a family. It was making him think that perhaps it wasn't such a bad thing, and that enough time had passed to alleviate the sort of atmosphere war created.

After years of being a cadet at Balamb Garden and experiencing war first hand, it had been hanging over his head and distorting his perception of what mercenaries should be doing. There was no need for him or anyone else to spend the rest of their lives training and forgoing such things as family. But, it was difficult to change his opinions about what he'd been taught. Family and war didn't mix, but that didn't mean one needed to exist without the other, especially when peace had reigned for so long.

So he was left to consider many things, among which was his own son. Moving to Esthar hardly meant he'd be ringing Leonhart's doorbell, but there was a certain allure in doing so when he'd be within the same country border.

Seifer had thought about his son a fair few times since leaving Esthar ten years ago, but he'd also thought about many other things that usually didn't come up in casual conversation. He'd thought about his time as a cadet in Balamb Garden, he'd thought about his time at the orphanage in Centra, and a lot about the war. Ten years was a long time to think, anything and everything under the sun had showcased as a thought at one time or another.

He'd left because there hadn't been any point in staying or even occasionally visiting the boy. It was weird and awkward and he didn't want any part of it. He'd been called cold hearted many times by an array of girlfriends over the years, but he failed to see how that was at all the case. Leonhart seemed well adjusted to playing the role of a mother, wasteful as it was for such a talented fighter to become a complete pansy. And, every day, month, and year that had ticked by had only made it easier to take no part in it.

For Seifer, the meaning of family was completely lost. He was surprised Leonhart understood it. He wished Raijin and Fujin the best of luck, but highly doubted they'd be capable of raising anything beyond an eggplant. He failed to see how children were anything but a responsibility, and couldn't help but feel that it was all born of necessity to continue to human race.


	7. Chapter 7

Defining Love

Chapter Seven

"Dad?" Lore called out, excitement evident in his voice despite his best attempt to sound as even toned as possible.

Having run out of room on his father's lap long ago, Lore was no longer the rather scrawny child he'd started out as. Not a day over sixteen and he stood five feet and nine inches with the promise of a couple more inches to go. Already taller than his father and slightly broader in frame, he was prone to sulking whenever they sparred and he lost despite his greatest efforts.

"He's not back yet," Laguna answered from within the kitchen.

Hurrying to take his shoes off and hang his coat in the closet, Lore rushed to meet his grandfather. "Where is he?" he questioned earnestly, blue-green eyes staring avidly at the older man. It was never weird to consider Esthar's President as his grandpa unless he was around his friends.

Straightening up as he closed the oven, Laguna smiled brightly. "He had a lunch date with Cale."

Pushing sixty-two and still the President of Esthar, Laguna was a man who aged primely. Though his hair was shades grayer, he was neither bald nor completely without color. The crows feet around his eyes only served to give his appearance character and his laugh lines only served to make him appear that much more friendly.

"Date?" Lore cried incredulously.

"Relax," Laguna soothed. "It's an expression. He should be back soon. I think Cale has to go back to work after." Removing his oven mitts, he tucked loose strands of graying black hair behind his ears.

"What a shame that he can't join us tonight," Lore commented in a dead tone of mock enthusiasm. He didn't make any effort to hide his dislike for the smooth talking charmer that had spent the past year warming up to his father. It was annoying whenever his father was out alone with the man, where he couldn't monitor them. Certainly his father could fend off any unwanted advances, but he envisioned terrible scenarios involving drugs or being lured into a trap that even the Balamb lion couldn't escape. Cale Bernhein was a thorn in his side.

Laughing, Laguna reminded, "if your dad likes him, give the guy a break. I know I like him."

"That's because he used to be your secretary and didn't make fun of you," Lore stated deadpan. "He's just not right for Dad. Between Uncle Irvine and Zell, why does he need more friends?"

Shaking his head, the older man pointed out, "if it were up to you, Squall would stay single forever."

"Single?" Lore's tone of incredulity bordered on outrage. "They're not dating!" the young man declared.

"Well," Laguna began with an air of uncertainty, immediately stopping his teasing when his grandson seemed on the verge of running out the door to throttle his former secretary. "I'm teasing. If anyone ever came along, you'd disapprove no matter how amazing they were."

"Damn straight," the young man affirmed, entirely serious.

Sighing, Laguna opted to change the subject, never sure what to make of Lore's unwavering father complex. "How was school? I bet your glad your birthday's on a Friday this year."

"It was boring," Lore stated in complaint. "I should have played hooky." Sniffing the air curiously, he questioned, "What are you making?" While he was quite certain it could only be one thing, the fact that it smelled nothing like a cake was suspicious.

"Your birthday cake!" Laguna announced. "This one will definitely come out better than last year's."

"You say that every year, and they all end up being thrown away," the dark haired youth stated evenly.

Hands on his hips, the Estharian president frowned. "This year is different," he affirmed confidently.

Loosening the tie on his school uniform, Lore excused, "I'm gonna get changed. Don't set anything on fire, we haven't replaced the extinguisher after last time." Walking off he grumbled to himself about how his dad shouldn't have gone out on a date and left Grandpa alone in the kitchen.

Frowning at the boy's departure, Laguna was brought back from his thoughts about always being picked on for his occasional mishaps when the timer went off. Jumping in surprise, he quickly went about putting the mitts on.

In his room, Lore hastily changed into a pair of boot cut jeans and black t-shirt. Out of his stiff blazer and uniform, he felt little relief. After turning down all offers of hanging out to celebrate his birthday in order to rush home, he was slightly perturbed to arrive and find his father absent.

Balling his tie up, he chucked it towards his closet, not caring to put it away properly when his mind was so occupied. It was unlike his father to hang out with anyone or even speak to anyone other than himself. Of all the things he might have taken pride in with Squall Leonhart as his parent, he took the greatest pride in being the only person in the world that Shiva's lover talked to. Sometimes he'd bring up the most ridiculous of topics just to bask in how his father would indulge him. There was of course his grandfather and aunts and uncles that registered on his father's radar, but not like he did.

Naturally, to have some total stranger cozying up was out of the question. He recalled clearly the day he first realized the threat Cale Bernhein posed. Back when the man had still been his grandfather's secretary, every time he'd visited the office with his father, the man would always greet them with a smile. Of all the nerve, that charming grin was obviously directed at his father each time. On the one occasion that the supposed ice prince actually returned the greeting, he'd made certain to always accompany the unsuspecting man every time after.

Not looking a day over twenty, it was a dangerous world for someone like his father. There were countless women who would love to attach themselves for the fame, and any number of perverted men who thought the former commander was more effeminately pretty than handsome. Laguna's constant reminder that his father was very inexperienced when it came to dating and relationships didn't help to ease his mind when he considered that someone was attempting to make subtle advances.

Even worse was the recent run in at some local gym. A religious swimmer, his father hadn't even skipped a day when the private pool in their complex was being renovated. Opting for the nearest gym to do laps, it was discovered that the young Mr. Bernhein used to be a professional swimmer and now coached some college team.

There was nothing he could do when he was in school almost every day, losing precious hours that were being eaten up by some undeserving white haired weirdo with nothing but perverted intentions.

Pacing back and forth along the pale blue rug of his room, Lore eventually settled on actually doing something about it and not walking around with distressing images in his mind.

Striding from his room and into the kitchen, the dark haired youth asked, "are you sure he's coming back soon?"

Fanning an overcooked vanilla cake, Laguna cringed in apology at once more botching up his grandson's birthday cake. "He should be. We agreed that we'd all get started once you came home." Returning his attention to the now crispy desert, he wondered if an extra layer of icing would diminish any burnt taste.

"You told him I decided to skip practice today, right?" Lore questioned, recalling that they'd agreed to eat dinner later after his soccer practice. However, he'd changed his plans when he remembered the coach would be gone for the next few days and he wouldn't be grilled for ducking out. It might have been a mistake to trust his grandfather to relay the message.

Ceasing his fanning, Laguna regarded Lore with an apologetic smile. "I forgot," he admitted.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, a habit he'd picked up from his father, Lore shook his head. "Where'd Dad go?"

Rubbing his temple, Laguna attempted to remember. "Ah!" he exclaimed, eyes lighting up. "He wrote it down so I wouldn't forget." Searching his pockets, he eventually came up with a fold piece of torn paper. "Lexis Café."

Frowning, Lore commented, "that place is expensive." Extravagant places were not his father's trademark, especially for something as trivial as a platonic meeting for lunch.

Shrugging, the President pointed out, "maybe he's not paying. Not that it'd matter, I mean Squall's got money… at least, he won't accept anything from me…"0

While his grandfather continued to ramble about receiving so many free things as president that Squall should share in, Lore turned and stalked away. First it was called a date and then Cale was supposedly paying. He wouldn't waste any more time.

Near the door, Lore sat on the small ledge while tying his bootlaces. Grim determination marred otherwise handsomely boyish features.

"You're not going out to get him, are you?" Laguna questioned, standing in the kitchen's entryway.

"I am," Lore announced. Standing up, he wrenched the closet door open and grabbed a jacket at random. Shrugging into the tanned leather garment, he wasted no time for explanations. With a hurried slam of the door, he was striding down the hallway towards the elevator.

With a heavy sigh, Laguna shook his head. He was no expert on father-son relationships, but he had an inkling that his own interactions with Squall were far more normal than Lore's. Then again, perhaps it was a twisted result of the father being the mother. If Squall were a woman, then the overprotective nature wasn't all that extreme.

Face nearly pressed against the glass window of Lexis Café, Lore scoured the premise for his father. It wasn't difficult to spot the pair in the small coffee house. Filled with trepidation, blue-green eyes stared at the two forms sitting unnecessarily side by side at a small table not far from the window. His father seemed positively enthralled with whatever book was in front of them, so occupied in fact that Cale' ridiculously close proximity didn't seem to register.

Tearing back from the window, intent on storming into the famous coffee shop, it was just his bad luck to crash into perhaps the only person walking by on the sidewalk. Though a usually pretty busy part of the city, the crowd wouldn't gather for another hour or so, when everyone from school had time to go home and change, and when everyone else got off work.

"Sorry," Lore apologized, grateful the person hadn't been some little old lady who would have hit the pavement. Turning to face the person, he was mildly surprised as he redirected his focus higher up and stared into strikingly bright green eyes.

Quirking a brow, Seifer Almasy turned his attention to the window. Eyes quickly scanning each face in view, he almost barked with laughter at the sheer irony of it all. "Well fuck kid, if you're gonna run into a person without looking where your going, at least be looking at something better than Leonhart." Obviously a guess on his part, he couldn't imagine anyone else worth gawking at, even if his words spoke otherwise.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Lore bit out angrily, forgetting that the man he spoke to was a complete stranger and that the guy's six-foot-something frame seemed capable of crushing him.

Laughing, Seifer crossed his arms and gave the kid a bemused stare. Esthar was full of interesting people. He'd never encountered such a ballsy attitude in anyone since meeting Leonhart. The pipsqueak knocked into him, muttered a poor apology, gawked at him rudely, and then had the audacity to become angry with him. At least when the even smaller pipsqueak named Squall had done so, there was a lethal weapon in hand.

"Should I spell it out for you?" the ex-knight questioned with underlying mirth, rather amused at the sudden encounter.

Glaring fiercely, Lore reminded himself that if he were to start anything, his father would probably see. Still, he couldn't help but feel boiling anger at the implication that his father wasn't worth his undivided attention. He didn't usually have a short temper, but this stranger seemed to rub him to the wrong way.

Seifer searched the boy's eyes with slight curiosity, swearing that cold glare was a bit too familiar for comfort. "Who is he to you?"

"Lore," Squall called, rushing from the entrance to the café. Heart in his throat, the former commander glanced from Seifer to Lore with a mix of confusion and fear.

"Dad," Lore spoke, focus shifting to his father. Approaching the pale man, he became concerned when stormy blue eyes were fixed solely on the tall blond man he'd run into.

"Seifer," Squall spoke lowly. "What are you doing?"

Taking a moment to absorb the situation, Seifer eventually grinned brightly in dawning understanding. It was too ironic to be true. Beyond the coincidence of the kid being his son, something he wasn't prepared to actually give much thought to at the moment, Squally-boy looked pale as a sheet. It was quite obvious the kid didn't know him, which meant the world's number one girly-man had some explaining to do. It was quite fun to watch Leonhart squirm, perhaps wondering if he'd already given something away. Secretly, he was squirming inside as well, not at all prepared for this sudden meeting. Somehow, it felt like fate.

For a long moment, jade-green eyes soaked in the sight of his former rival. It was somewhat surprising, while at the same time not. Leonhart looked exactly the same as he remembered. Time was good to some people and unforgiving to others. He had nothing to complain about, though he still held quite a sore spot over losing seven years of his life.

The door opened once more with a rushed swing as an imposingly tall man with silver white hair stepped out. "Squall," Cale Bernhein called. Adjusting his own long black trench coat, he offered the worn leather garment draped over the crook of his arm. "Is everything alright?" he questioned, stepping closer as he eyed a man he recognized as the former knight Almasy.

"It's fine," Squall mumbled, absently taking his jacket and simply holding it.

There was a long moment of clashing uncertainty, when no one spoke. Squall and Seifer shared in a rather intense gaze, the world seeming to halt just for them.

"Happy Birthday Lore," Cale said with a disarming smile, purposely bringing an end to the stand off.

Perceptive from day one, Cale knew quite well why Squall's son didn't warm up to him. While he'd shown no outward sign to prove Lore's obvious suspicions, he also wasn't denying anything that would later be deemed true. Still, warming the Balamb lion's heart was a task that required his full attention. He'd worry about winning Lore over when he managed to find some solid footing with Squall. At the moment, his prospects of becoming something more than a friendly acquaintance seemed bleak.

Hard pressed to glare in return to the polite greeting, Lore instead chose to address the stranger that his father apparently knew. "Seifer Almasy?" he questioned, looking back to the blond man. Not a common name, he'd be a fool not connect the dots at that point.

"At your service," Seifer lilted, always happy to oblige a special introduction when he could be certain he wouldn't wind up on the end of a carelessly thrown punch. Easy enough to dodge or block, stirring up trouble in Esthar was not a good idea.

"Seifer," Squall hissed. "What…" the brunet trailed off, failing to grasp the proper words for any of the questions he had running through his head. Biting his lip, he cast a furtive glance to his son. It wasn't fair that Seifer turned up like this. It had been agreed long ago that on Lore's sixteenth birthday all questions would receive answers, including the young man's parentage. While many details had become common sense to Lore as the boy grew and became exposed to the outside world, gleaning nearly everything from casual conversations and friends at school, Seifer was one puzzle piece that wasn't in place. After so many years, with only a matter of hours before he was going to sit down and hash it out in a timely manner, the blond bastard to showed up like a damn Forbidden drawn to the living.

"What am I doing here?" Seifer supplied smoothly. "I was just walking when your son practically tackled me into the middle of the street." He wondered how believable it would be to say the kid knew him as the absentee father and attacked him in a fit of rage.

"He didn't," Squall shot back. While he hadn't seen anything prior to glancing up and finding Lore staring with a look of aggression at Seifer, he knew his son better than anyone.

On the verge of defending himself, Lore simply gave a smirk of victory at his father's wholehearted belief in him. "I accidentally bumped into him," the young man answered far more honestly.

Scratching the back of his head in thought, Seifer's smirk widened. "That he did. My memory has always been a bit faulty, but you would know that better than most, wouldn't you Squall?" As expected the informal use of Leonhart's name caught the eye of both the son and the thus far nameless, mystery man.

"What is your business in Esthar?" Cale spoke up with a slight hint of anger, the emotion apparently in abundance.

Beyond accustomed to voices filled with rage, Seifer was hardly fazed by the defensive stance taken by the unknown man who looked like Fujin's brother. Blatantly studying the stranger, he glanced up and down the man's primly tailored suit, likely designer from the polished black shoes to the tie and vest. He knew the man's heritage before the man's name, someone who originated from the Island Closest to Hell. It was the white hair and crimson eyes, so similar to Fujin's that it was unmistakable. "I'm not here to terrorize the locals if that's what you're concerned about. Who are you, by the way?"

"Cale Bernhein," the tall man beside Squall introduced smoothly, stepping forward and extending his free hand in offering. Though slightly miffed at having his lunch cut short, he'd spent far more time with the striking brunet than he'd originally hoped for.

Seifer gave a slight frown as Bernhein stepped closer. The guy was actually taller than him and he couldn't figure out why it irked him as much as it did. "What are you six three?" he asked bluntly.

"Six five," Cale returned, merely smiling at the tall blond, a man of formidable stature but not so much as his own.

Grunting in acknowledgment, unable to blame a measly extra inch on the shoes, Seifer let the matter go while his ego was only slightly bruised. He settled for shaking the man's hand with excessive force.

"Dad," Lore spoke quietly, wondering how easy it would be to make a quick and unnoticed exit. "I heard you were on a date with Cale," he murmured quietly in obvious accusation.

Grey-blue eyes blinked in confusion, unable to swing from one extreme to the next so quickly. "Lore, we should go home first," Squall suggested, hoping the walk back would give him time to think.

"Dad," Lore pressed, sensing the distress in his father and fearing that it had indeed been a moment of interrupted intimacy going on behind his back. Moving closer, he reached out to take the forgotten jacket from the loose grasp of his father's hands. "Here," he said while holding the garment up so that it could be slipped into.

"I can do-" Squall began to say defiantly, but Lore only shook his bomber jacket insistently. Sighing in disapproval, he was unable to refuse.

Lingering behind his father, Lore hugged the man after settling the jacket in place. Arms winding around narrow shoulders, he playfully leaned his weight against the older man and rested his chin near the soft fur collar. "You forgot to say something," he said, eyes darting towards Cale with a tacit message that there was a line not to be crossed.

Thinking for a moment, Squall eventually started in his son's hold. Patting the boy's arms, he spoke, "Happy Birthday."

Frowning, Seifer glanced from one face to the other. While he didn't enjoy his lack of understanding, it would be amusing to figure things out.

Not releasing his hold until crimson eyes had a good look, Lore eventually stepped back, but stuck close to his father's side.

Still smiling under the belief that the best things were worth the effort, even if he was feeling rather disheartened as of late, Cale decided to take his leave. Though he felt concerned over Ultimecia's knight being there, wanting to ask if Squall would be all right, he knew the quiet man hated unnecessary concern. So he said nothing, hopefully expressing a level of understanding that might be noticed. In a gesture that had never been done before, but something he needed to do lest he be written off completely, Cale brashly stooped and gave a fleetingly chaste kiss to Squall's pale cheek. "I have a class at two. I'll call you later," he said, straightening up and staring down into wide stormy blue eyes.

Nodding numbly, honestly at a loss, Squall simply accepted the parting as though commonplace. He wasn't sure what to make of the touched smile that came to Cale's face or the odd sensation he received when crimson eyes seemed to gaze deeper into him than most people could.

It was delayed reaction when Squall's cheeks heated and he shot a curious stare at the retreating man's back. For a long moment, he simply watched Cale walk away, the subtle shift of the dark coat covering a broad back.

Laughing outright, Seifer managed to gain understanding. "Squally-boy's got a boyfriend," he teased. "I always knew you were a princess at heart."

"Fuck off!" Lore shouted angrily, directing much of his aggression gained from watching the procession of the stolen kiss and not being able to express it towards the person who'd caused it.

"Lore," Squall said in light reprimand.

"Did he learn such naughty language from me?" the blond questioned with amusement.

"Seifer, please, just stop," Squall requested in all seriousness. "This really isn't the time for your games."

"Really?" The former knight remarked with mock curiosity. "Because it seems like you've been playing quite the game all these years. It's not fair that we can't all join in."

"Let's go," Lore more commanded than suggested.

Torn between wanting to go home in order to explain everything properly and confronting Seifer, Squall stood and stared at the ex-knight for several moments.

Grumbling to himself about a loss of fun, Seifer conceded that he should let up on the teasing when Leonhart started looking at him with the eyes of a lost puppy. "I'll be in Esthar for a while. Don't get any romantic dreams when I say that I'll call you."

Continuing on the way he'd been headed, Seifer left the mess he'd started. The further away he walked the more he wondered about that kid and whether or not he should be feeling a specific emotion given the gravity of the situation. He wanted to smile at the final realization that that ballsy attitude was quite like himself, but suddenly he couldn't find anything amusing in what had transpired. It was ironic and proof of what a small world they lived in, but his amusement on the matter was gone.

Squall couldn't help but watch as Seifer walked away. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he fought the urge to chase after the man and settle things sooner rather than later. However, he had Lore with him and there was another pressing matter he needed to deal with.

"That's the guy Aunt Quistis is always talking about, right? The guy you trained with at Garden? He was Ultimecia's knight?" Lore queried for the sake of absolute confirmation.

"Yeah, that's him," Squall replied quietly, feeling anxious with each passing second. "Come on birthday boy, before Laguna burns our apartment down."

"The cake's already ruined," Lore informed. "The kitchen remains intact to see another year."

With a forced smile, Squall nodded and walked along side his son towards home. Amongst his jumbled thoughts about Seifer and Cale, he couldn't stop glancing at Lore with an odd sense of lost years. The young man was already sixteen, no longer a little boy. It wouldn't be much longer before his job was over. Being a father had scared him at first, but after caring for the child for such a long time, he wasn't sure what he'd do when Lore was gone. As it was, his life was pretty much defined by being Lore's father, so where was he left when that ended?

"You're thinking too much again," Lore chastised, knowingly reading the distant expression on the older man's face.

"…" Squall didn't reply, feeling rather foolish for his thoughts when there were more important issues at hand.

Brows furrowing in displeasure, Lore studied his father's profile. Picturing in his head the image of Cale kissing the youthful looking man beside him, he couldn't help but wonder if that was merely the public expression of what was really between them. "Are you dating Cale?"

Eyes widening, Squall looked at Lore in surprise. "No," he answered simply. Thinking back on the awkward parting, he wasn't sure what to make of it. While it was a first between them, perhaps he just didn't know Cale well enough to assume the man wasn't the friendly sort. If Laguna had done it, it wouldn't have required second thought. Cale had worked as the president's secretary, so there was some chance they might have worked well together due to similar personalities. Yet, he'd known the man for over a year and kisses on the cheek were not normal.

"Do you like him?" Lore questioned, sternly staring at his father for any sign of hesitation.

"Yes," Squall answered once more. He wouldn't be spending his free time with a person he didn't like. They had a lot in common and Cale didn't seem to mind it when he hardly spoke, so there wasn't really anything to dislike. They swam laps together, sometimes racing each other. More frequently they saw each other outside of the swimming pool, but neither of them had very much free time so it was just a casual friendship. With Irvine and Selphie now in Trabia, he didn't really have anyone to call a friend in Esthar.

"Like how?" The young man followed up immediately, glancing up at the stoplights while they waited at the corner.

Frowning, Squall looked at his son. What was with the twenty questions? "is something wrong?"

"Yes," Lore stated, not quite in mock of his father's short answers, but almost.

"I'm not a mind reader Lore, but I do know that you don't like Cale." Somehow he felt as though there was a bigger issue that should be taking precedence, but assuming Seifer hadn't said anything then it was reasonable that Lore would hardly give the former knight much thought.

Jaw clenching, Lore struggled to hold his tongue on the matter. However, after realizing that he'd eventually be speaking up the next time that guy came around, he decided to tell his father upfront what he thought. "I don't like him because he's a phony, always smiling like that when all he really wants is to sleep with you."

Hand coming to his face, Squall hid his embarrassed blush. He couldn't believe Lore had just said that.

"Well it's true," Lore defended. "You might not see it, but I do. So does Grandpa."

Eyes peeking out, Squall started walking once more when the traffic pattern changed. "You've been talking with your grandfather about this?" He questioned, feeling mortified to be having such a discussion with his son. He'd about killed himself when attempting the coming of age talk with his son, greatly relieved when it became apparent the boy had already learned most everything from friends.

"Grandpa's always hinting about it, talking about how you can't stay single forever and that Cale's a really nice guy." Lore figured he might as well go into a detailed explanation of what his concern was all about. "It's not you I don't trust. It's other people. From the very first day I met him, I knew he only had one thing on his mind."

"Lore," Squall spoke up, unable to hear anymore. He had no idea where any of this was coming from. "I think you've forgotten I'm the parent here." As much as he wanted to assure the boy that his relationship with Cale was nothing but platonic, he had a feeling it would only play into the scenario his son had fabricated.

"But it's different, you're not a normal parent, so I worry."

"Not normal?" Squall questioned, hoping it didn't have anything to do with the manipulated circumstances of Lore's birth, though he imagined that it did affect the boy more than he'd know.

It was Lore's turn to be embarrassed as he admitted, "most dads don't look the way you do. It's never been weird for me, but it's definitely noticeable."

"Because I don't wear suits and have an office job?" Squall wondered aloud, not sure how his casual wardrobe and continued activities as a mercenary made him abnormal as a parent. Surely there were other fathers who worked construction or as police officers that didn't fit the typical image.

"No, Dad," Lore said with slight exasperation, realizing all over again what traits his grandfather and father shared. On certain topics, his father could be so oblivious. "You look like a college school student. In a year, I'll probably look older than you. And, more than that," he hesitated, doubting he was capable of saying it when he was loath to even think it.

Slightly wary that he'd done something wrong all these years, Squall pressed, "more than that, what?"

Swallowing thickly, the young man muttered, "You attract a lot of attention. Attention from… other men."

Thinking for a moment, Squall considered his son's words. He'd never cared about that sort of thing, but if it had been causing problems for Lore without his knowledge he'd feel terrible. "Does that bother you?"

"No," Lore assured quickly, but then corrected, "yes, kind of. It's just that I worry a lot. I guess what I mean is that it's fine if you like someone, just a certain kind of someone. I think it'd be better if you saw a woman."

With a sigh, Squall shook his head. "Despite what you may think, I have no interest in anyone right now, female or male." He was hardly about to defend his sexuality to his own son, so he'd leave it at stating that there was no one who currently caught his eye. Perhaps he should have dated someone, a more feminine influence in the household. Then again, the uncaring disposition about sexuality was a part of the Estharian culture, something he'd known when choosing to live there while raising Lore. Even if Lore said a woman was better, there was still the underlying feeling that his dating another man was acceptable as well.

Not making his point, Lore continued, "that may be so, but someone else might be interested in you. I'm just saying that it's best to not become involved with someone who could hurt you like Cale."

"Hurt me?" Squall muttered, almost finding the notion amusing. If someone could defeat him in battle, then his getting hurt in the process was only deserved.

Running a hand down his face and sighing, Lore rephrased, "force you to do things."

Steps faltering, Squall felt the back of his neck heat, feeling embarrassed not only by what his son was implying but also for his slowness on the topic. Generally, he prided himself on being sharp and perceptive, it was what he was trained for. "Oh," he intoned, intent on retrieving an ice pack to cool his cheeks the second they returned. "I know I've always stressed that no one is undefeatable, even myself, but Cale isn't trained as a fighter."

Squall half expected to wake up any moment, finding that it was too surreal to be reassuring his son that he was not a likely candidate for being raped. While he knew Lore was terribly protective of him, it had always been in an adorable sort of way. How had waking up early to make sure he ate a proper breakfast turned into confronting him about dating women because men were likely to assault him?

"I know that," Lore stated, "but there are ways that these things happen. There are drugs and you might not even remember something ever happening."

"Hyne, that's my line," Squall remarked, wondering how common it was for the children to act as the parents.

"I'm serious," Lore stated, reaching out and hugging his father. "I worry."

Defeated in a matter he couldn't even resolve to understand completely, Squall gently tousled dark brown hair in comfort. "Give me some credit. I don't befriend liars and the only perverted lecher I put up with is your Uncle Irvine." Cale was currently a social science professor, not at all adept at using that large framed body skillfully outside of the water. He honestly didn't see where his son's vendetta against the man came from.


	8. Chapter 8

Defining Love

Chapter Eight

Seated around the kitchen table, the family of three shared a large Lemont's pizza straight from the box. The tradition was eight years old and running strong, though the preference of toppings often changed.

"Is that all you're eating?" Laguna questioned as he lifted the lid of the box to toss his crust in and retrieve one of two remaining pieces.

"Dad," Lore prompted, stirring his father from a lost reverie.

"Hmm?" Squall intoned, glancing from one face to the next. "What?"

"I ate five. I don't think Grandpa was talking to me," Lore explained.

"Sorry," the pale man said to the president. "What'd you say?"

Flipping the lid so that it gently fell open against the table, Laguna reiterated, "you haven't even finished your one slice. Is that all you're having?"

"I'm not hungry," Squall answered. "Anyone want the rest of this?"

Frowning, Lore tapped his grandfather's foot under the table, seeing the older man about ready to accept the offer. Assured his father would be left to not waste what was still left, he said, "At least finish that one. Or do you want something else?"

Smiling in appreciation for the concern, Squall assured, "no, it's really just my appetite."

"You should eat more," Laguna chastised. "I wouldn't be surprised if Lore could bench more than you now."

Throwing the longhaired president a halfhearted glare, Squall redirected the conversation. "What time do you want to get your permit tomorrow?"

"Early," Lore replied automatically. "What time does the DMV open?"

"For my grandson?" Laguna remarked arrogantly. "They'll open at midnight if I command it."

"Dictator," the young man scoffed.

"I still get to buy him a car, right?" Laguna questioned excitedly, gazing at Squall pleadingly.

"Seriously, that's a bit much," Lore interjected. Though he'd love to be given a car for his birthday, he knew the price tag would be insane if his grandfather was involved.

Squall folded his hands with his elbows propped on the table, hiding his smirk. He knew that Lore would never openly admit to wanting a car, which made it convenient that Laguna was beyond giddy at the prospect of giving the sixteen year old his first vehicle. "You don't need my permission," he mumbled.

Slapping the table, Laguna started immediately, "okay, can we go after you get your permit?"

Grinning his pleasure, Lore nodded an affirmative, hardly about to argue. Leaning back in his seat, he stated, "I'm stuffed. I always eat too much."

"Sorry there's no cake," the older man stated for the hundredth time.

"Irvine's bringing something," Squall informed, stormy blue eyes glancing at his right wrist to check the time. "He should be here soon."

Starting from his seat abruptly, Lore cried, "what time is it?"

"It's only five," Squall reassured.

Sighing with relief, Lore plopped back down. "Thank Hyne, I almost forgot." The first game of the soccer season and he had everything ready to record, but he'd still kick himself if he missed any of it while it was happening. He never missed a single game that the Toramas played in.

The sound of harsh knocking cut through the apartment, only growing louder and quicker in succession, the caller demanding to be let in quickly.

"Aunt Selphie came too?" the dark haired boy groaned with trepidation.

Shrugging, Squall admitted, "it was you or me."

"You sacrificed your own son?" Lore said with disbelief. "Bloody mercenaries, you're all the same."

"Want me to answer it?" Laguna offered, practically wagging his tail.

With a nod, Squall conceded that it would indeed be the best scenario for the kindhearted man to receive the initial onslaught of rib cracking hugs from the energetic woman. If the circumstances were different, he might be inclined to be a bit more welcoming toward Irvine and Selphie, them making a special trip to Esthar just for Lore's birthday. However, when the trip involved Selphie flying the Ragnarok and cutting the usual two hours down to a mere twenty minutes while getting her kicks, it wasn't exactly a hassle.

Standing up, Squall proceeded to clear the table off, assuming Laguna was finished and currently too occupied to remember being hungry even if that weren't the case.

"I'll help," the young man offered, taking his own plate and moving across the large kitchen to the sink.

"Lore," Squall said as he too approached the sink. "Is there any particular reason why you haven't asked me anything about today?"

Broad shoulders tensed noticeably, relaxing moments later, but not before perceptive grey-blue eyes saw.

"I already asked you about Cale," Lore commented, eyes not meeting his father's as he turned around. Their conversation about Cale and whom Squall should or shouldn't date had ended when he'd resorted to hugging the man to impress his seriousness. Beyond that, they'd simply made their way back in silence.

"But not about Seifer," Squall pointed out evenly, his tone impassive by nature. Sensing some hidden distress in his son, he reached a hand out and nudged at the boy's chin until their eyes met. "I never meant to keep anything from you, and I knew there was a high probability of you finding things out from someone other than me, but I can't be sure if you know everything unless you talk to me."

"Where's my nephew?" Selphie's voice cried, the small woman coming into view seconds later as she rushed Lore and nearly tackled him clear off his feet. "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" Hair down to the middle of her back, the cheerful woman was as exuberant as ever with a pale yellow sundress making her an icon of brightness. Her small frame and big green eyes hid her age from the world, and her sometimes childish tendencies did nothing to dispute her appearance.

Biting his lip, Squall berated himself for not realizing it earlier. He should have known something was up when Lore seemed wholly uninterested in asking any questions that had previously been deemed forbidden. Perhaps he was wrong to have waited so long, but he was only human and hardly father of the year.

"Hey darlin'," Irvine drawled in greeting, striding into the kitchen at a leisurely pace, closely followed by Laguna. Irvine was still tall and lanky with fluid motion to his stride and occasional glints of sharpness to violet-blue eyes. Currently ranked as the world's top gunman, six years running since the worldwide competition first began, he was proudly able to say he was the fastest shooter with the sharpest aim.

Squall accepted the gunman's hug, years of conditioning forcing him to accept a whole lot more from the odd couple. He'd become somewhat desensitized to the Galbadian's slightly overly friendly ways and perverted humor. However, when Irvine pressed lips to his cheek in perfectly innocent kiss, he reeled back in shock. It wasn't so much the act itself as it was the sudden flooding of Cale's face in his mind and remembrance of that afternoon.

Staring in mild concern, Irvine wondered what thoughts were brewing behind bright stormy eyes. When pale cheeks heated, he couldn't help but laugh.

"Irvine, stop teasing Squall," Selphie chastised, pulling her husband away from an obviously embarrassed brunet.

"I can't help it," the gunman defended, running a hand through long tresses of auburn hair. "When he wears jeans like that, they hug his butt just right."

The playful punch Selphie gave to Irvine's upper arm packed enough strength to express her dislike of anyone having a nicer looking ass than herself. "My butt's just as nice. Next time, grope me."

Chuckling, Irvine moved on to greet the birthday boy, now detached from his wife. "The girls send their love," he drawled as he gave Lore an affectionate hug. "Hanna wanted me to give you one of her bras with her cell number written on it, but I told her you weren't interested."

Laughing awkwardly at the joke, hoping that it was a joke, Lore returned the hug. "Tell her I'm in love with Terri's pretty face." There were countless running jokes between them all. Hanna and Terri had been his closest friends growing up. They'd moved away before it became awkward for a teenage boy to be best friends with a set of blond twins six years his senior.

"I would if I knew she wouldn't give me the silent treatment for a year," Irvine returned, glancing around to make sure Squall wasn't suffocating under the iron grip of his wife's arms. Returning his focus to the young man, he stepped back and ran his eyes up and down in intense study. "You've gotten bigger than your old man," he drawled with amusement.

"That's 'cause Squall's a snuggle bunny and won't grow anymore," Selphie declare, still firmly attached to her former commander, one of few men that didn't make her feel too short.

"Where the hell does snuggle bunny come from?" Irvine chastised, tugging at his little lady's arm to pry her loose. "If he were still your commanding officer, you'd never say that."

"You guys missed dinner, but if you're hungry there's plenty to eat," Lore spoke up, glancing at the now clear kitchen table with uncertainty.

Tightening her hold on the lithe brunet, refusing the be drawn away before she was satisfied, Selphie exclaimed, "oh Squall! How d'you do it? Lore has such good manners. I can't even get Tyler to make me toast and he hasn't even started to hate me yet."

"Hanna and Terri don't hate you, darlin'," the gunman said reassuringly. "It's just a little independence."

"Independence?" The copper-haired woman questioned incredulously. "They never call anymore or ever visit."

Chuckling, Irvine explained to a confused looking Squall, "the girls are living on their own while going to school and it's been two days since they last called."

"Two days of a mother's worry," Selphie exclaimed with a dramatic sigh. "Oh Squall, only you can understand. Irvy doesn't care at all, he doesn't know what we go through."

Blushing, Squall gently pushed the small woman away. He resolved to speak with Lore later, suddenly needing complete focus not to betray his emotions around the wild couple.

"They brought cake," Laguna announced, arms holding a square box of thin cardboard.

"Well, I figured since we couldn't stay long, we should make it worthwhile," Irvine drawled with a smirk towards the president, knowing the older man repeatedly botched the job up every year.

"Are you going to stay for the game?" Lore inquired with a hopeful undertone, always eager to increase the number of people who watched with him.

Violet-blue eyes seemed to dance for a moment. "No, we gotta head out," he replied with a smile directed at his former commander.

"What?" Lore questioned, glancing from his father to his uncle. "What don't I know?" he pressed when he caught a glimpse of a small smile on his father face.

Squall turned away, unable to continue looking at Lore and not smile. "I'll get a knife for the cake," he murmured in excuse before moving away from the group to busy himself near the cabinets.

Selphie led Irvine to the table, pinching his side in reprimand for possibly ruining her nephew's birthday surprise. Together they sat with Laguna, which was her cue to begin requesting details on everything that had been going on in Esthar. Having lived in Esthar for eleven years, she'd be remiss if she didn't keep up on current events.

"Dad," Lore called as he followed the older man to the other side of the kitchen.

Squall turned around slowly, defeat admitted as he gave a soft sigh. Leaning back against the counter top, he worried his lip while debating the best way to give the boy his birthday present. "I wasn't sure what to get you," he admitted quietly, recalling the weeks of torment that lead up to his son's birthday and every holiday that required gifts.

"I love my new cleats," Lore assured, still surprised that he'd received what he'd been eyeing in the window display for only a week. Truthfully, his old cleats weren't quite ready for retirement, which was why he hadn't said anything about buying the new pair that carried a wince-worthy price. His father didn't verbally stress getting as much use as possible out of everything, but the scuffed practice gear and worn leather jacket that would be tissue thin in a few more years expressed that rule clearly. He knew their family was rich, which was obvious when his grandfather was the president of Esthar. But it was always slightly awkward when his grandfather complained about having too much money and his father continually refused to accept any of it. He was afraid of disappointing his father if he regarded money with a spendthrift attitude.

Shaking his head, Squall began to wonder if he'd gone overboard this year. It was always a difficult line to walk between giving Lore certain privileges without spoiling the sixteen year old. Thus far, he couldn't have been happier with the man his son was turning out to be, but he felt embarrassed to be considered the doting sort of parent.

Shrugging indifferently, unable to take back his gift at this point, Squall mumbled, "Check your left pocket."

Blinking in confusion for a moment, Lore eventually complied. Frowning, he muttered, "How do you do that?"

"Your guard was down," Squall answered.

Sending his father a wry look, he observed the contents of his pocket. Stunned for a long moment, blue-green eyes stared at the palm sized packet of tickets, unable to comprehend what his eyes saw. "These aren't… did you seriously get me…" Lore was also unable to speak properly at the moment.

Eyes looking anywhere but at his son's unreadable expression, Squall began to doubt himself further. "I thought you might like them. I suppose it's too much trouble to go to every game."

"These are season tickets," Lore declared, eyes still intently fixed on the packet as if it were the greatest treasure in the world.

For Squall who had never been interested in sports very much, he wasn't sure if watching something on TV meant also wanting to see it first hand. He'd bought the tickets at Laguna's urging, the man assuring him it was a profoundly insightful idea that he'd put out there as a last resort.

"These are impossible to get, how long ago did you buy them?" the dark haired youth questioned as he looked up for the first time.

Frowning, still unable to tell if Lore were pleased or not, Squall explained, "Cale knows someone on the team."

Ignoring for the moment that Cale had been involved, Lore pressed earnestly, "Who? Which player?"

Thinking back, Squall took a moment to remember. "His jersey number was four. The name was Diamond."

Jaw dropping, Lore stared in awe. "Star striker Yohan Diamond hooked my dad up with season tickets," he murmured in disbelief.

Squall felt relief as a broad grin came over Lore's face, eerily similar to the goofy one that Laguna often had. He gave a faint smile of his own before saying, "Happy Birthday."

Lore raised a slightly trembling hand to his face, eyes downcast as he took a moment to settle down. He was on the verge of bursting out, unable to contain his excitement. He could die right then and be the happiest person alive.

Over at the table, Selphie and Irvine huddled together while watching the duo at the other end of the room.

"Five," Irvine whispered, "Four, three,"

"You'll be early," Selphie interjected.

"Two," the gunman continued.

"He's still shocked," the small woman commented.

"One," Irvine said, waiting for the outburst.

There was a long pause of silence. "Told you," Selphie stated. "And, it should be right about… now."

All at once, Lore launched himself at his father, latching onto to the man in a hug as tight as his aunt's. He had season tickets. "I can't believe you got these!" he exclaimed, able to stop himself short of spinning his father around.

---

Excitement having died down, Squall felt it was time to speak with Lore. Leaving the kitchen and his laptop behind, the lithe brunet walked into the flat of the large apartment. Approaching the couch, he gave a faint smile at the sight of his son watching the soccer game on TV. They'd seen it first hand already, only a couple hours ago.

Silently, Squall rounded the black leather couch and took a seat beside the boy. Seeming to catch on quickly, Lore casually turned the television off, darkening the room slightly.

Unsure how to begin or where to begin, Squall settled to something simple. "It's okay to talk about it," he stated quietly.

Facing forward, not looking at his father yet, Lore took a moment before saying anything in return. Tossing the remote to the cushion beside himself, he shifted to redirect his attention. One leg bent, he turned to the side and stared for a long moment into his father's eyes, trying to find some flicker of uncertainty while also drawing comfort from the unwavering gaze.

"Is it really okay, or are you just doing this because you think I need to know?" Lore questioned solemnly.

"Need or want," Squall offered. "It's not difficult to explain anything."

"I think it might not be a good thing to know, that something big would suddenly change. I don't want to look at you differently," Lore admitted with a note of hesitant fear.

Grey-blue eyes widened for a shocked moment. Squall hadn't expected Lore to feel that way. "Then tell me what you do know," he murmured.

Running his fingers through wayward tufts of sable hair, Lore lowered his head and stared intently at the fabric of his jeans. Knowing his father could sit there all night and wait for him, he spoke up sooner despite not wanting to voice his knowledge. It wasn't that he wasn't supposed to know or that it was wrong, but that they never really talked about it and he was afraid to know how his father might really feel about it all. "I know that I don't have a mother. I know you gave birth to me. I know that I don't care about whoever else I share blood with, because I don't need or want anyone else to be my dad."

Somewhat endeared by his son's admission, Squall took a moment to debate if it was really okay to let Lore not know that Seifer was the other father. "Okay," he commented at length. He felt certain that there would come a time when the sixteen year old would feel differently, curiosity driving the boy to ask the question.

"Okay?" Lore returned, raising his head to give the pale man a look of uncertainty.

Nodding subtly and managing a small smile of reassurance, Squall stood up in one smooth motion. Reaching out, he tousled the boy's dark hair. "Some things are better left alone," he assured when blue-green eyes seemed unconvinced that it was truly alright. Intending to retire for the night, he turned to leave.

"Wait," Lore called out, grasping his father's bony wrist. "I…" He wasn't sure he should ask what he had in mind, feeling childish for such a concern.

"…" Squall waited patiently.

"Was it a mistake? Were you forced to have me?" Lore blurted out, eyes staring at the relaxed hand of his father's. He studied the long, thin fingers, wondering how they managed to hold a gunblade so firmly.

"Ultimecia never had me sign a permission slip if that's what you mean," Squall returned evenly.

"Then you didn't want me?" the youth questioned in a hurt tone.

"Not at first, no," Squall admitted bluntly. Shifting his wrist, he turned it in the loose hold and grasped his son's hand. "But that changed rather quickly."

"Is any of this what you wanted?" Lore mumbled dejectedly.

Brows drawing together in concern, Squall moved closer. "Hey," he whispered, shaking the hand in his hold in reprimand. "Why would you ask that?"

Shoulders shrugging in answer, Lore tentatively reached out and grasped the hem of his father's t-shirt. Lifting it, he exposed the horizontal scar, just visible above the waist of loose fitting jeans. "Battle wound, huh?" he muttered. He'd known the truth for some time, but never actually studied the faded scar under the pretense of that truth.

"I'm sorry I lied," Squall said, almost shying away as his son's fingers ghosted along his abdomen.

Letting the loose material of the white t-shirt fall back down, Lore bowed his head against the older man. "You wouldn't have needed to lie about anything, if something like this never happened."

Alarmed that such a notion would ever be given credence by his son, Squall gripped slouching shoulders and pushed the boy back. "There's nothing in my life that I'd regret more than not having you in it."

Brows drawn as though about to cry, Lore simply gazed imploringly at his father. Wanting to ask if that were truly the case, he couldn't form such childish words. Instead, he settled for the time-honored expression, "I love you."

"Foolish boy," Squall whispered before sliding back to the couch and drawing the young man into a loose embrace.

Lore let himself be babied for the moment, forgetting his age and feeling once more like he were still smaller than his father and able to fit in the man's lap. He would of course draw the line at requesting to sleep in his father's bed, since that would just be embarrassing.

"I wouldn't have kept you sixteen years if I didn't want you," Squall stated, affectionately scratching at the head of dark hair on his shoulder.

Biting his lip, Lore debated the consequences of being whimsical and asking who his other father was. Arms encircling the lithe frame of the war hero he knew as 'Dad', he mumbled, "I want to know after all."

Preferring that Lore did know, Squall was content to oblige the boy with an answer. "Seifer Almasy," he said quietly.


	9. Chapter 9

Defining Love

Chapter Nine

Mind racing faster than his body cared to keep up, Squall reflected on the night before with uncertainty. Swimming for the sake of a distraction, he'd already lost count of how many laps he'd done after only just starting.

"Four hundred meters in six minutes," called a familiar voice.

Slowing down as he neared the starting end of the ten-lane crater of concrete called a pool, Squall tread water while looking up at Cale. Deciding it was easy enough to put goggles on and off, while too annoying to look at someone with them on, he reached up and adjusted the tinted eye protectors to rest higher on his head.

Smiling in greeting, the tall man from the Island Closest to Hell approached the edge of the floating brunet's lane. "With a time like that, I don't even have to spend two hours getting you to admit something is wrong." Not intent on joining Squall for any friendly races that day, he wore a long pair of black swimming trunks and red t-shirt, strictly on duty as a coach.

Shaking his head, Squall dismissed the notion that something was wrong. Swimming closer, he lingered just away from the small ledge, feeling more stable without anchoring himself in place.

"It can't be that Lore didn't like the tickets," Cale commented, grasping for any indication of what might be troubling the former commander.

"He loved them," Squall spoke up, his thanks for the help implied.

"Mr. Bernhein!" a young red headed woman called from nearby the locker rooms. "Can we start with the scrimmage?"

Straightening up with much reluctance to redirect his attention elsewhere, Cale ran a hand through short white hair. "You can start the scrimmage when you've put in a half hour of warming up," he grumbled just loud enough to the young woman to hear.

Grey-blue eyes watched observantly as the number of young women increased, each member of Cale's swim team venturing from the women's locker room, ready to begin practice. It was Saturday and just like his son had soccer practice in the morning, Orion University's swim team was booked for two hours of practice. While Squall had known such a practice was scheduled, he'd ventured a short trip to the publicly used pool on Orion's campus regardless. Admittedly, there could be no other reason to have forgone using the pool in his own apartment complex than to see Cale.

Returning his focus to the lithe figure effortlessly floating within an arm's reach, Cale smiled apologetically. "I can't shirk my duties today, but if you'd indulge my concern for whatever is or isn't troubling you, then we can meet up later."

"It's not a problem, I knew you had practice," Squall mumbled, concentrating on keeping his cheeks from flushing with embarrassment. He'd just sought the man out without much forethought or consideration. Usually, he made certain not to disrupt the coach's practices, but he'd been a bit mindless that morning.

"We won't be using more than four lanes today, so you can keep going." Speaking slightly louder, he added, "Maybe it'll motivate them, they've been slacking lately."

"We can hear you!" one of the girls called out over her shoulder.

"I know!" Cale returned with an amused smile.

"I was finished," Squall lied.

"You're off today right? Let me buy you lunch later. We can meet at Lexis café again to make up for what was interrupted yesterday." Crimson eyes held a hopeful gleam.

Nodding his consent, Squall swam a bit closer, intent on getting out. When he accepted the offered hand, his mind recalled something he should have thought of earlier. He remembered the odd parting kiss Cale had given him, something he hadn't decided his feelings on.

Masking all emotion, Squall let the larger man help him out, the sloshing of water sounding his departure from the chlorinated vat of tempered water. Feeling the gaze of many eyes upon him, he was reluctant to walk by the gathered students. Some things had never been the same after Lore's birth, even if sixteen years had already gone by. Suddenly being self-conscious under visual scrutiny was one of those things, making him loath to be around more than a few people at a time.

Almost giving into the urge to fidget like Zell did when told to stay in place, Squall settled to raking a cool gaze at the idling group of young women, all heads quickly turning away.

"Don't mind them," Cale said knowingly. "It's probably me they're concerned with, wondering how I know you. I've refused to answer them simply for the sake of making them suffer."

With a sardonic look, Squall shook his head slightly, shooting down the taller man's assuring conclusion. Grateful for wearing his baggy swimming shorts and not the speed enhancing ones that clung tightly, he knelt down grab his folded towel. Absently pulling his goggles off his head, he ruffled his hair a bit to stop it from dripping.

Escorting the silent brunet towards the locker rooms, Cale debated the evils of speaking up about what had happened the day before. He wondered whether his parting gesture had even registered as odd with Squall. Still, right then was not the place to bring it up. In fact, it was probably not a good idea to mention anything until whatever was bothering the stoic man was resolved.

With an amicable touch to the brunet's shoulder, Cale caught Squall's attention. "I'll call you when I'm done here. I can pick you up if you're not at your place."

Nodding absently, Squall impassively accepted the offer. Stalking away, he disappeared around the corner of the locker room's alcove. The distant voice of one of Cale's swimmers announced that the coach was needed to start practice.

---

Brooding in silence, Squall sat at the kitchen table in his apartment. Churning events from the previous night over in his head, he wondered what Lore was thinking about at that moment.

The boy had been right. Something had changed, and it was Hyne's blessing that it hadn't been something between them. Squall couldn't put his finger on it, but he knew Lore was greatly troubled to learn about Seifer.

Stormy blue eyes stared out the window, unable to catch any glimpse of Griever's fountain while sitting down. Sighing, Squall rest his head in his hand and shut his eyes. He tried to place himself in Lore's position, attempting to figure out what might be running through the dark haired youth's mind. In some ways he could relate to the situation. He'd been seventeen when learning the identity of his father was. However, being related to the kindhearted president was miles better than being related to someone the world would paint as evil in history books.

The night before, Lore had reeled back in shock, staring at him as though requesting he announce that it was just a joke. And he'd been a complete idiot about it, stupidly asking if it was really so bad and attempting to assure the boy that Seifer wasn't really the sort of person most people thought.

He'd been left with the silence of the darkened apartment when Lore had stalked away and gone to bed. He wasn't sure if blue-green eyes had been looking at him accusatorially or if it was just the shock.

With nothing to do but wait around for Cale's phone call, Squall wondered how he'd keep his mind occupied. He was entirely caught up on his mission reports, which seemed to be a cruel rarity. Headmaster Kramer refused to put him on any assignments that weren't worth his time, which meant there was no point in flying to Balamb in order to seek work when there was none.

As if waiting for him to wonder what he might do to take his mind off things, Squall's cell phone began to vibrate on the table's counter. There were a very select few individuals that had his number and even fewer who ever used it. Lore called him on a daily basis, whether it was to know where he was or just randomly ask what he was up to. Cale often called, though only for necessity, such as to establish plans for hanging out.

Picking the device up and gazing at the screen, he saw that it was Lore. Hastily, he answered the call.

"Hey, is practice done already?" Squall questioned in greeting.

"Dad," came the young man's voice, a detectible note of hesitation. "I didn't go to practice."

"…" Not sure what to say to that, Squall didn't comment. Not attending practice was Lore's prerogative, though he'd have liked to known where his son had gone instead.

"I'm sorry," Lore continued.

Blinking in confusion, Squall eventually spoke, "It's fine. You're old enough to do what you like, but I won't be pleading your case if Nielson benches you." His tone wasn't reprimanding, but somehow comforting despite its stern nature. It would seem that Lore wasn't upset with him, which was a great relief.

"No," Lore said in correction. "I'm sorry for not telling you something. I went to see Seifer Almasy. I'm in his hotel room right now."

Stunned into silence, Squall found himself unable to fathom a proper reply. Lore was in Seifer's hotel room? He wasn't entirely confident he could comprehend such a thing.

"Give me the damn phone," grumbled the ex-knight.

"That's mine!" Lore sounded in annoyed protest, voice distant as the phone was obviously taken away.

"Hyne Leonhart, put a leash on this puppy dog of yours," Seifer complained. Giving a dramatic sigh, there was a pause before the arrogant man spoke further. "I've been courteous considering the circumstances, but I can't make any promises if you don't call him off."

"Hyne," Squall muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. Taking a moment to let it all settle in, he quickly straightened up and stood to leave. "What hotel?" he questioned, stalking from the kitchen.

"Recess Manner," the knight grumbled with impatience. "And hurry the hell up, he doesn't look potty trained."

---

Glowering as he scoured the premise, Squall searched the lobby of Recess Manner for his son. He'd assumed that was where Lore would be waiting, but he began to have the sinking feeling that perhaps he'd have to directly go to Seifer's room. Mildly surprised that his former rival was staying at such a place, he didn't doubt that it was only temporary.

Beyond the clear glass doors that slid open and shut without so much as a hiss, the large lobby consisted of blindingly bright white flooring and walls. Center stage was the concierge's station, a lone attendant dressed in some red uniform idly waiting to serve on the deserving and to spurn the occasional vagrant that wandered in.

There were a total of five bodies in sight. Two quickly disappeared on the flat neon blue lift beyond the checkpoint of the hotel's registry counter. With another couple on the way out, Squall was quickly left to himself, no Lore in sight.

Approaching the front desk, he'd successfully captured the attention of the concierge after standing near the door and searching the near empty lobby.

"Can I help you sir?" the middle aged man questioned with a note of distain, glancing up and down the less than appropriate attire for someone staying at such a place.

Squall fought the urge to roll his eyes. Dressed in a pair of dark denim jeans, navy blue t-shirt, and his bomber jacket, he cared little for the clothes men his age wore. There was little a fighter care for in appearances. He'd never admired or respected a person because they could match their tie with their socks. He respected strength.

"Seifer Almasy," Squall stated in even request, ignoring the repelling gaze he was being given.

Making a slow progression of scanning the computer's screen, the man smiled condescendingly before reaching for the phone nearby. "One moment," he murmured in false politeness.

"His room number," Squall said before the man began to dial any numbers. If he wanted to call Seifer, he'd have done it himself.

"I'm afraid it's the hotel's policy that no unregistered guests wander about unless accompanied by someone staying here."

Face impassive, Squall simply nodded his understanding, patiently waiting for Seifer to be called. Now that Lore knew about Seifer, what did the boy really think? Why had Lore sought Seifer out?

Judging from his son's tone on the phone, the only thing that troubled the young man was facing possible trouble for acting unannounced. There was no fiery rage or seething anger detectable, which was possibly more worrisome to Squall than anything else.

Grey-blue eyes narrowed at the sound of Seifer's elevated voice shouting from the phone. Tearing his gaze away from the empty lobby, still no sign of his son, Squall glanced with hidden amusement as the concierge held the phone away for the sake of not going deaf. Unable to make out what the ex-knight was yelling, Squall simply waited for the message to be relayed. Every so often he caught a curse word and his own name spoken, no surprise that the two accompanied each other.

"Leonhart," the older man mouthed, eyes widening to stare at the pale brunet on the other side of the counter. Flustered, he tersely hung the phone up. "Mr. Almasy extends an invitation to his room."

Quirking a brow, Squall gave the man a sardonic look. That was hardly all the boisterous blond had said.

"My apologies Mr. Leonhart, I speak for myself and this hotel in saying that we're happy to bend the rules for you. You're free to see anyone you like, and if you're interested in staying the night we have many suites available."

Nodding absently, Squall found little relevance in hearing any of what he was just told, only needing to know the room number. "What room number?" he reiterated, slightly irritated that he needed to repeat himself.

"Room 418," the man whose nametag declared him to be Stanley answered right away.

Turning without any further regard for the man, Squall calmly walked away, hands finding placement in the pockets of his jacket. Like most of Esthar, there were lifts in place of stairs and elevators, though there were obvious exceptions such as his apartment complex. Automatic lifts weren't a good thing for young children, taking them up or down without the necessary consulting of the parent. Elevators weren't wholly without a danger, but the buttons were relatively high up and he'd been fortunate that Lore had been rather afraid of the archaic form of modern day lifts.

In a manner of seconds, Squall was whisked away and brought to the fourth floor of Recess Manner, the gentle tug in his gut the only indication of the direction he'd gone in.

---

"It's a simple question," Lore said, eyes following the pacing knight.

"What is this, a fucking interrogation?" Seifer bit out, ceasing his pacing and turning to regard the kid with his arms crossed.

"It's not like I don't already know," the young man affirmed, eyes never wavering. He stared with a small notion of interest in this man who was supposedly the second father, someone he'd never rightly met. Frame not hidden by some coat like the day before, he understood why someone like this had been able to give his father trouble during the war. It was unsettling to consider for even a moment that him being taller than his father was likely a result of sharing blood with this ex-knight.

Scoffing the blond quipped, "Then why'd you come here?" Running a frustrated hand through lengthy hair, Seifer began to pace impatiently once again.

At the almost meek knocking on the door, Seifer crossed the room and punched the side panel to kindly welcome the puppy's master. "What the hell took so damn long?" he growled out in greeting. "I'm up here dealing with some gung ho child or yours that thinks he's a fucking private detective."

Glaring, Squall expressed his irritation at the ex-knight's usual manner of insulting everything that breathed. "Perhaps it had something to do with your antagonizing him yesterday," the brunet bit out icily, swiftly stepping around the taller man.

"Dad," Lore called out, coming into view and stalking closer. With a heated glare in his eyes, a certain fiery anger that was nothing like his father's icy gaze, he hooked an arm with the concerned brunet and kept on walking.

Squall wasn't entirely certain what Lore was up to until the boy began to forcefully tug him toward the door, obviously intent on leaving. If he didn't know any better, he'd say Lore was the one who'd come to retrieve him.

Seifer stood composed near the still open door, arms crossed as his jade-green eyes stared with amusement. "What, leaving already?" the ex-knight mocked sarcastically, standing aside when the dark haired youth stormed on by. One second he couldn't get the kid to leave, and the next the brat was running away.

"Prick," Lore hissed out as he passed. "There's no way my dad would have been involved with you. It's some mistake!"

Blanching, Squall eased his arm out of Lore's hold. "Lore," he spoke quietly, calling the boy's angry departure to a halt. Just outside the blond man's hotel room, intense green eyes still watching them, the former commander pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. Such a misunderstanding was inexcusable on his part. There was definitely something to be had about long conversations that filled in all the details. He should have explained more last night.

Lips pressed firmly together, the young man turned to meet the laughing gaze of the former knight. The man seemed to be mocking him just by breathing, leaning against the open doorway so leisurely like that. "Look," he bit out grudgingly, assuming his father was prompting him to make an apology. "I'm sorry for showing up like this. It was my mistake."

Seifer's expression grew rather solemn all of a sudden. There was silence between the three of them for a long span of tense seconds that just kept adding up. At length, unusually serious features softened. With a sigh, the blond spoke, "There's no mistake, kid."

"Lore," Squall spoke again. "There's something you're misunderstanding."

"Of course it's a mistake," the dark haired youth refuted vehemently, taking a step closer to the blond man, not hearing his father's quietly spoken words. "A man like you wouldn't even make it into his squadron, let alone bed."

Cursing silently, Squall felt his cheeks heat. "Lore," he said more firmly, voice rising to successfully capture the boy's attention.

Smirking vindictively, Seifer happily interjected, "Maybe I raped him."

Grey-blue eyes narrowed at the ex-knight's words. Reaching out quickly, Squall managed to grab hold of his son before the boy launched some blinded assault on a man that wouldn't hesitate to fight back. "He's goading you," the lithe fighter stated calmly, tightening his grip as he felt Lore try to shrug it off.

"I'll fucking kill you!" Lore declared for all the world to hear, eyes shooting daggers at the smirking blond while trying to escape restraint of his father's arms.

"Lore!" Squall shouted in turn. "Settle down."

"Kill me?" Seifer lilted with mirth. "Don't throw such words around so easily. Your hands are softer than a baby's ass, just how much training do you actually have?"

Glaring at the antagonizing knight, Squall berated himself for letting such a situation come about. "Seifer, take care who you pick these fights with."

"I think you should be preaching to that kid of yours," the ex-knight returned, grinning wider as the ice prince let go of the rampaging brat.

Squall wondered how easily the bullying knight managed to cut all ties with Lore. Perhaps it was a relation based solely on blood, but even to orphans like them that meant something. Eyes widening, Squall realized for the first time that Seifer seemed to be acting more than reacting. "Careful," the brunet said in warning, not entirely certain what spurred him to plead the other man's case.

Green eyes gazed in curiosity, grin faltering as he awaited whatever the pale man had to say next. "Careful of what?" he grumbled impatiently when the brunet didn't speak quickly enough.

"Don't push something away if you haven't even made up your mind yet," Squall stated evenly, regarding the tanned knight with a fierce look.

Jaw clenching, Lore's gaze softened as he turned to look at his father. Silently questioning what the older man was talking about, he became annoyed at the way the asshole of a knight seemed to share some understanding.

"Perceptive little fuck, aren't you?" Seifer mumbled, not daring to blink while he held the former commander's attention completely. When it seemed like the puppy would start barking again, he smirked. "Does that frighten you?" he questioned.

Squall considered the question seriously, despite knowing it was mostly proposed to rile him. There had certainly been a time when he'd feared Seifer's presence in Lore's life, afraid that his role would be threatened by it. However, it had been many years since he'd last faced such a situation. Lore was sixteen and there was little threat of losing his son's affections. "I have nothing to fear," he replied. "But it seems you do."

Smirk falling, Seifer huffed indignantly. "What a bother," he muttered.

Reaching out, Squall placed a hand on his son's shoulder. Seeing the dejected expression the boy had, he smiled reassuringly.

Reluctant to follow with such an unresolved issue still standing, Lore was powerless against the requesting eyes of his father. Settling for asking questions along the way, he followed the coolly composed SeeD down the hall.

"Let's have a match Leonhart!" Seifer called to his old rival's retreating back.

"…" Stopping, Squall turned and simply stared at the former knight. His eyes gave the obvious answer.

"How long will it take you to run home and grab your gear?" the blond questioned, already feeling a surge of excitement at the mere prospect of a spar.

Shaking his head, Squall replied, "I have a previous engagement this afternoon."

"Drinks with the boyfriend?" the ex-knight mocked.

Squall shrugged impassively, affirming that it was indeed something along those lines. "Tomorrow," he said.

Irked that some date with another man was more important than staging a fight with him after so many years, Seifer glared in return. "Tomorrow then," he agreed tersely, hardly about to pass up the opportunity all together. "I trust you know of a good place."

Nodding, Squall turned away once again, more concerned with leaving and explaining things properly to Lore than making plans for a fight.

Nothing seemed to be going right that day. Lore found himself shooting angry looks over his shoulder until they were out of sight of Ultimecia's knight. If he didn't know any better, he'd say half of what was said had been done without words. It was disturbing to think that a man such as Seifer Almasy could understand the things his father tried to convey. Worse yet, Cale had another date with his dad. When the hell did that happen? He shouldn't have gone out at all that morning, for practice or to seek out his absentee father.

Stepping onto the lift, Squall grudgingly said, "Seifer and I weren't involved like that. Whatever Ultimecia did was without both our knowledge." Explaining that much was perhaps more morbidly embarrassing than the conversation he'd had with the boy yesterday.

"Then why'd he say something like that? Who jokes about raping a person?"

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Squall muttered darkly, "Seifer does. He's known for being able to anger anyone."

Frowning, wondering if he'd indeed played into the blond man's hands, Lore stepped closer and hugged his father. "I'm sorry about this." Just last night he'd requested not to know the identity of his other father, and then like some flippant boy without any resolve, he'd gone out the very next day to meet the man face to face.

Tousling short dark strands of hair, Squall felt his anxiety lift. Cautiously choosing the right words, first debating the evils of giving Lore any ideas, he admitted, "I think Seifer expected you to come to him."

"What?" Lore remarked incredulously, pulling back while holding his father's narrow shoulders at arms length.

With a small shrug, Squall expressed his uncertainty in the matter. "It's been ten years since he was last in Esthar. I don't think he was very surprised back there."

Hesitating to ask his question, Lore let his gaze fall. "Then, he's here because of me?"

"I don't think so," Squall replied. "But I doubt it's been very easy to forget about you. You have to remember that he lost seven years after the war. When he came back, he had a lot to deal with, on top of learning he had a son."

"He's still an asshole," Lore affirmed, stepping off the lift as they arrived in the lobby.

Nodding in agreement, Squall was hardly about to refute the obvious.

"I kept asking him what he knew and if he were really, well you know. He wouldn't answer at all, and that's when he made me call you."

"He didn't hurt you, did he?" Squall questioned, not above returning to the knight's room with his gun.

Grinning proudly, Lore threw an arm around his father's shoulders as they walked towards the exit. "Who could possibly hurt Commander Leonhart's son?" he questioned as though daring anyone to give a name.

Shaking his head, Squall was happy to leave the matter as it was. No longer in the dark about how Lore felt, he could rest easy. His so-called date with Cale left an array of other issues for him to deal with.

"Are you really going to fight him?" Lore questioned.

"A spar," Squall corrected.

Silently considering this, Lore recalled hearing about how his father's sparring partner had always been Seifer Almasy. "I can come, right?"

Nodding, Squall was only slightly uneasy about bringing Lore along, but it had been some time since they'd last trained.

TBC…

A/N: Oh my, it's been ages since I updated. I'm sorry, but for whatever reason, it was just difficult to write this chapter. I don't think it was writer's block, but something along those lines. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it. (Now I'm off to deal with mid-terms. Someone save me!)


	10. Chapter 10

Defining Love

Chapter Ten

Back from the confrontation with Seifer, Squall leaned back against the anchored island counter in the kitchen. Lore was taking a shower, ensuring his privacy while receiving a call from Cale.

Feeling as though he'd dodged a bullet somehow, Squall flipped his phone shut after talking briefly with the man his son disapproved of. They would not be hanging out that day. One of the girls on the swim team had had an accident on her way home, and for whatever reason, the coach had been summoned to take care of things at the hospital. It was quite likely that Cale would have gone even if he weren't needed. The white haired man was similar to Laguna in many ways, just not nearly as much of a klutz.

Squall's mind had been so busied with thoughts pertaining to Lore that he'd suppressed everything concerning Cale. Now that his fears were abated as far as losing ground with his son, he was obsessed with the strange feelings about the previous day. While the young woman's accident was unfortunate, he had more time to consider his unclear feelings and decide exactly what it all meant.

It was just a kiss on the cheek, something so simple that he was beginning to feel ridiculous for stressing over it. Yet, he knew there was more to it. Lore was a very perceptive young man, which meant he couldn't wholly disregard his son's assumptions that Cale liked him in that way.

He'd known the former presidential secretary for a solid year. During a time when he'd begun to assume it was okay to dedicate his life solely to Lore, it was Cale's kinship that reminded him he couldn't possibly live each day isolated from everyone in the world just because they weren't a stone's throw away. Irvine and Selphie had moved away and while he certainly enjoyed Laguna's company, he'd needed more than a friendly presence. He'd needed a friend, someone who didn't care if he was cold or silent, but wouldn't babble ceaselessly for hours at a time.

Selphie and Irvine were in Trabia. Zell and Quistis were in Balamb. Ellone and Rinoa were in Centra. And he was in Esthar. He liked Esthar, despite working in Balamb. Lore had school and friends there, and he felt it was a sin to even consider having a place to stay that wasn't under the same roof as his son. With an airship, the commute for the infrequent missions was hardly an inconvenience. However, when it came to visiting others, he was incapable of making the first move and not everyone had an airship at their disposal. Thusly, in no time at all, when Irvine and Selphie had departed for Trabia five years ago, close friends had become more like acquaintances, which was only lonely because during that short period after the war he'd known what a full house felt like.

Squall supposed that his brief run ins with Cale had escalated because his visits to Laguna's office had increased with his need to be around someone. It wasn't that he was a friendly person himself, but that just having someone in the same room for a few minutes did a lot to distract him from his often brooding thoughts. He usually just listened to his father prattle on, rather fond of the smile constantly on the older man's face.

Then one day, Laguna had run out for a few minutes, and he'd been left with no one nearby except the crimson-eyed secretary that he'd hardly spoken more than a greeting to. Cale had taken the initiative to talk, at first only assuring him that the president wouldn't be gone for long.

He couldn't recall how it had happened or the exact words they'd exchanged, but before he'd known it, he'd found himself sipping coffee while listening to the man talk about becoming a teacher. There was a certain eloquence and sincerity to Cale's words that was refreshing. And there was never any pressure to contribute more to their conversations, or any awkwardness when he didn't speak at all.

Squall wouldn't say that Cale understood him best in any particular regard, but rather accepted him and all his unsociable tendencies. It hadn't been until the tall man of unique heritage had left Laguna's payroll that they'd begun to see each other in more than a coincidental fashion. It went from being in the same place at the same time, to sharing certain interests and exploiting those interests for the sake of slowly building some relationship.

It was disgruntling to believe that there was any romance amidst whatever Cale felt for him, but at the same time it wasn't necessarily repelling. It had been far too long since Squall last dealt with such matters. Rinoa had been his only steady girlfriend, but even that hadn't been normal since he'd been pregnant throughout most of their relationship. A few dates over the years were more suited for being considered one night stands than anything else. He had always been unable to commit when he simply didn't care.

When in doubt, Irvine was his best bet. The gunman was what Selphie liked to call his 'wingman', but he preferred to consider best friend. He supposed it was all the same.

Eyeing the phone still clasped in his hand, Squall debated the evils of actually summoning Irvine out in person. With Hanna and Terri out of the house, he imagined it wasn't a huge inconvenience. Then again, he was assuming Irvine didn't already have plans.

"Dad," Lore questioned as he entered the kitchen. "What are you doing?" Hair damp and sticking on end from gruffly drying it with a towel, the boy approached his father with the intention to convince the man to join him in getting his permit and buying a car.

Frowning as he continued to stare at his cell phone, Squall stood straight and stopped leaning against the counter. "Being indecisive," he answered, silently berating himself for letting so many matters bother him. Seifer being back was an understandable thing to become hung up on, but he couldn't let one problem create some snowballing effect on him.

"About what?" Lore questioned with interest, sidling close and taking a glance at the cell phone in his father's hand, thinking it had been something else.

Shaking his head as if ridding himself of whatever was bothering him, Squall reached out and tousled Lore's hair. "Dry it properly or you'll catch a cold," he chastised softly, earning himself a pouting glare for dodging the question.

Biting his lip in a learned habit, Lore cast a saddened glance downward. "Is it 'cause I went to see him? It's not like I want him in my life or anything, it's just that I was curious."

Sighing, Squall assured, "It would be okay if you wanted to get to know him." While he truly felt that it would no longer be the end of the world if Lore actually wanted to weather some type of relationship with Seifer, he highly doubted that's what the boy wanted after departing from the hotel with a stream of curses directed at the ex-knight.

Lips pressed together in disapproval, Lore reached out and hugged the pale man. Currently in a transitional stage of life where he wasn't sure he wanted to be bigger than his father, missing the days when he crawled into the man's lap and felt nothing but safe comfort, he found there was a particular warmth in being the one to draw his father into hugs instead. "I only want you," he spoke reverently, hoping to sooth whatever doubts there might be that he loved his father any less.

Blushing slightly, Squall began to wonder if Lore turning sixteen was the beginning of some new phase. Perhaps he should be proud that the boy had matured enough to not always play the part of the child. Then again, perhaps it was him who was being immature, something in his demeanor forcing Lore to take up the role.

Nodding hesitantly, Squall pondered at the gentle warmth the youth's words created in him. He hadn't really thought he was still hung up on what had happened earlier that day, but perhaps he'd been wrong. It certainly wouldn't be the first time he'd left matters unresolved in light of dealing with something else.

"Grandpa will be here soon. Will you come with us?" Lore requested hopefully, releasing his hold.

Straightening up, Squall gave a subtle smile. "I'm going to see Irvine today."

Wanting to question why his father was going to see his uncle, Lore's interrogation was brought to a halt before it began when the knocking at the door sounded his grandfather's arrival.

"Don't let your grandpa drive," Squall said quietly, suddenly filled with an apprehension involving his son in a car that Laguna piloting.

Nodding his understanding, Lore assured, "We're just going to pick it out. Besides, I want you to be the first one to teach me anything."

---

Scowling as a result of not knowing what else to do, Squall planted his feet apart and gripped the hilt of his revolver blade more tightly. "Stop it," he ordered from his place, roughly five running strides from the smiling ex-knight.

"Stop what?" Seifer asked innocently, his smile only widening.

"That," Squall said, protesting the smile on the other man's face. It was creeping him out. "Stop smiling."

Laughing as he gave a testing swing of his gunblade, a worthy model that was only replacing the one he'd never get back, Seifer enjoyed the moment for all its worth. He couldn't help but smile, standing across form Squally-boy once again, the rush of battle stirring as the dawning moment approached. On top of it all, he'd managed to agitate the composed lion without even saying anything.

Gritting his teeth, Squall glared, none too happy with the obvious enjoyment Seifer seemed to be taking from it all. It wasn't like he didn't enjoy a good spar, but he'd never had to deal with a partner that seemed to be mooning over the activity.

"Kick his ass Dad!" Lore cheered, smirking victoriously at the faltering smile of the ex-knight.

Seated a fair distance away, Lore watched with growing excitement. He'd never actually watched his dad spar with anyone before. Training cadets hardly counted. This was like a real fight, where the former commander wouldn't hold back for the sake of not hurting an inexperienced partner.

For all the many activities and sports that went on in the world, there really wasn't any designated ground for gunbladists to practice. In any garden, there was a training center that sufficed, but there were no arenas or courts specifically designed to accommodate a spar between bladists. Using the grassy fields that were needed by others was out of the question considering the deep gouges and divots Squall and Seifer were likely to create. There was also no guarantee that they wouldn't do damage something as hard as a concrete ground.

In the end, Squall had requested the use of Laguna's estate. It would be private and any damage was automatically covered. There were some benefits to being the president's son that Squall would take advantage of, especially given the rare occasion.

The staging for their supposedly friendly spar was basically Laguna's backyard. The president was deeply depressed about not being able to be present, but there were the occasional days when Laguna just couldn't up and leave, which seemed to surprise the man even after roughly thirty-five years of dealing with the time consuming occupation of running an entire country.

The plush green grass that encompassed the large area was bordered by tall hedges, beyond which was a garden that Squall had already declared to be off limits. If they meandered that way, it was understood that they were to correct their path, no matter how engrossing the spar might become. Aside from keeping away from the professionally tended garden, the actual estate was also off limits. Other than that it was a free for all. Naturally, Lore had been given strict orders not to become involved in any way.

The day was partly cloudy, the air crisp and at a temperature oddly chill for the late spring. But winter seemed to have run long, the past week having been rather chilly altogether. Now, it was perfect for training outside, almost as though Seifer's random appearance in Esthar was predestined by some omniscient being.

In truth, Squall was fairly excited himself, though he was currently far more aggravated than anything else. It had been sixteen years since he'd last faced Seifer and there was no coincidence in it having been just as long since last having a good challenge.

Feeling somewhat nostalgic, Squall paid homage to the occasion by wearing what he did in the field. It wasn't his trademark, just the most functional for fighting. His black leather pants and plain white t-shirt, fitting much the same as always if only slightly more baggy. With his many belts in place, he felt the familiar weight at his hips, centering his balance when taking various stances. Lore had his jacket. He was far too attached to the garment to allow for any more patch jobs to be done.

Likewise, Seifer wore what felt most natural during battle. No longer having access to SeeD uniforms and the endless supply of training gear, he wore a simple pair of dark denim jeans. With a black t-shirt that fit his frame well, complimenting a build that took years of training and endless upkeep, he was happy to show what manual labor did.

"You junctioned?" Seifer questioned as he took his stance, pointing the tip of his sharp weapon at the former commander.

Rolling his eyes, Squall informed, "Guardian Forces are strictly for the use of Garden."

Shrugging, Seifer commented, "That wouldn't have stopped me."

Giving the ex-knight a sardonic glare, Squall silently reminded that there was huge difference between the two of them. Playing by the rules was his forte and doing the exact opposite had always been Seifer's.

"Point taken," the blond grumbled, chuckling seconds later when stormy blue eyes widened slightly, surprised at his having read the brunet's thoughts.

"Whatever," Squall muttered, narrowing his gaze when the taller man seemed to find his expression amusing.

"En garde," Seifer warned with a wide grin, eyes practically shining and fingers tightening with the forced restraint of not launching a premature assault.

Frowning, Squall abstained from informing the blond that they weren't fencing. Instead, he took a deep breath, focusing himself. The stances came naturally. There was little need to consciously keep his form in check, so he directed his efforts as needed. Calculating the setting, the mood and mindset of his opponent, strengths and weaknesses he needed to be conscientious of throughout the entire exchange. It was easier said than done, but he felt confident he still knew his rival well enough to rely on past information.

Patiently, Squall waited. It was as he closed his eyes and listened intently to his surroundings that the tacit announcement of not making the first move was made. Feet firmly planted, while crouching enough to not remain rooted if a quick attack came, he held his blade aloft with both hands.

Standing near his grandfather's house, which was basically one big stone mansion, Lore anxiously gripped the hem of his baggy navy blue hoodie. He stared avidly, trying to absorb it all. His wanted to move closer, but remained obediently in place. Unable to blink even for a second, he wondered why his father closed his eyes, almost afraid of what not being able to see would do.

All at once it began. The distance between the two fighters seemed to close instantly as Seifer rushed forward. The first violent clash of blades actually startled Lore. The sound echoed through the air. It was as unexpected as it was expected, and inexplicable at the same time.

Enthralled with a nervous sense of forbidding, blue-green eyes stared as though hypnotized. His father's blade slid along the ex-knight's, smoothly disconnecting and sweeping past the first assault.

Seifer gave Leonhart no time find any purchase, blindly swinging his blade as he turned to face his opponent. Their spots exchanged, his blade ghosted the air above the dodging brunet's head. Open for an attack and knowing it, Seifer followed the momentum of his heavy weapon and used it to take him more swiftly from his vulnerable position. Seeming to leap away just in time, he smirked at the sight of grass blades cut down the barest of a centimeter.

Mouth agape, Lore was lost. He couldn't even follow all the movements. He could see it well enough, but the pair would strike and dodge all at once it seemed. When he finally registered what happened, about five other moves had already been made.

Gulping, Lore felt his throat become rather dry. "This is insane," he mumbled to himself.

It was a nerve-wracking realization for Lore that his father might not win. There stood more than a slim chance that this ex-knight might wind up breaking his father's blade with those brutally harsh attacks.

Swallowing thickly again, Lore was amazed at his father's ability to counter so many fierce strikes. It seemed physically impossible for a man of relatively small stature to deftly defend and strike against an opponent of frightening strength.

With an excited grin, Lore remembered just how awesome his father really was. The man was the former commander of the most well reputed Garden in existence, savior of the free world, and the person he cared for the most.

Perspiration began to show on Squall's brow as he continued to exert himself in blocking all of Seifer's attacks. His moment was coming soon though, and both of them knew it.

Seifer readied himself for the quick-footed fighter's next level. When he swiped his weapon downward in a dangerous arc that would have severed the brunet's arm clean off, the sudden absence of his target was the signal. Now the little lion really started to dance, and he needed to keep his wits about him lest the guile man draw him into a trap.

All at once the fight changed. Seifer couldn't land a hit when Squall didn't stay in place for more than a fraction of a second. Likewise, Squall couldn't land a hit when he was moving around so much. At some point, when the former commander could manage to move more than two steps ahead, then he'd attack. It was just a matter of waiting for the blond knight to lose stamina and slow a bit more.

Seifer knew the tactic well, but was powerless against it. If he tried to break loose, it would give the brunet an opening. If he tried to go faster, he'd come up short and tire himself out all the quicker.

Narrowed green eyes cast a furtive glance to take in his exact positioning. Smirking on the inside, Seifer dove to the side and came up before the seven-foot hedges blocking whatever precious flowers lay beyond from view. He could just imagine the angry glint to stormy blue eyes, and he felt all the more pleasure in swiftly hacking at the thick foliage.

With a new escape made, Seifer didn't hesitate to move out of bounds, knowing the little lion was sure to follow.

Growling his frustration, Squall leapt over the remnants of the hedge, briefly wondering if the stub could be turned into some sort of pathway. As luck would have it they were not trampling on the president's garden, though given the unpredictability of the match, such an end was quite possible.

Squall's fleeting distraction proved dangerous as he narrowly managed to dodge the ex-knight's blade upon landing. Focusing once more, he fought to regain the upper hand. If he kept blocking Seifer's blade, his arms would start going numb. It was a fierce strength to contend with, something he'd learned early on in their days training together.

"Had enough?" Seifer jibed jovially, crashing his weapon downward and meeting the smaller man's. Pushing forward he watched as the lithe figure shook with exertion, threatening to buckle.

Glaring with an icy cold frost rimming steely irises, Squall felt a wave of stubborn resolve keep him from backing down. Standing his ground as best he could, he refused to be brought to his knees.

Seifer watched a bead of sweat roll down the pale man's jaw line. Full bowed lips were parted while panting under the strain. Granted he was winded himself, but it seemed so much more significant in the former commander.

Grunting as he put forth the effort, Squall twisted around and crouched low. Now within the blond's strike zone, he let the man finish the swing with its lost momentum and promptly elbowed the ex-knight in the stomach.

Doubling over at the unexpected move, Seifer at least managed to make use of the brunet's proximity. It had been a risky hit, and he'd show the consequences of striking at such a close range.

Dropping his gunblade, Seifer latched on to the fleeing commander just in time. Still waging a battle to gain his breath back, he kept his hold tight.

Stubborn to a fault, Squall refused to drop his weapon even with his arms pinned to his sides. It wasn't until the pain of being repeating punched in the forearm came that he eventually lost his grip.

Gunblades forgotten, it became a less staged fight of grappling limbs. Squall struggled to break free while Seifer struggled to keep his hold.

"Admit defeat!" Seifer shouted, wincing as he was met with the back of the brunet's head.

Keeping his mouth closed for the sake of not biting his tongue, Seifer silently shouted a stream of curses as he barely managed to keep his hold. Uplifting the flailing body, he wondered if shaking the man about like a rag doll would settle the thrashing lion down.

The spar was brought to an abrupt end however. All at once, Seifer met with the edge of an unnoticed fountain, tripping and taking Squall with him. With a splash, the fighting pair found themselves suddenly stunned into calm behavior. The gushing had seemed to be in the background, but the heat of battle had blinded them both to their surroundings.

Now the water that sprayed forth from some sort of chubby cherub seemed quite loud, as if mocking their blunder. To further add to disgrace, the water was freezing.

With a groan, Seifer clambered to his feet. Cursing, he glanced at the spent brunet, idly sitting in what was a good two feet of water as if sulking. Loath to end the rare spar in such a manner, the ex-knight tackled his unprepared rival.

"Seifer!" Squall shouted, feeling that they should at least leave the fountain. Pushed beneath the water's surface, he tried to find leverage to push the larger man off with his legs.

Naturally, it was hardly Seifer's intention to drown Leonhart. Still, he kept himself in place as if to threaten as much. Letting the brunet back up for air, he straddled the lithe body while pinning uncooperative arms above the man's head. He was confused when grey-blue eyes stared up at him in cold fury but all struggling ceased.

Squall was a patient person. He knew without a doubt what was coming and it would be any second now. Calmly, he stayed in place and simply tried to catch his breath.

Eyes narrowing, Seifer glared. "Admitting defeat?" he questioned, not understanding why the brunet had stopped struggling.

Returning the glare with an offended edge, never one to be defeated so easily, Squall almost smirked. "Watch out," he muttered with underlying mirth, his warning far too late.

"Bastard!" Lore cried, throwing himself headlong at the ex-knight and tackling the man off of his father.

With another splash, Seifer found himself in a similar position to the one he'd put Squall in. The difference being that once the painful sting of a single punch was made to the side of his jaw, the weight atop him was removed.

Lore scrambled off the blond knight, hurrying to his father. Dropping down to kneel at the drenched brunet's side, he immediately reached out to help the man stand. "Are you okay?" he questioned.

"I'm fine," Squall answered. Though easily able to stand on his own, he didn't shrug his son's arms away.

Cold and wet, Squall was disappointed with the end of the spar. Expectantly, he glanced over at an equally soaked ex-knight. Gazing for a moment into striking green eyes, he knew the feeling was mutual. They both wanted to go again, not having experienced anything close to it in years.

Grinning, Seifer questioned, "Ready for round two?"

A ghost of a smile passed over Squall's lips. With a nod, he moved towards the edge of the fountain.

"What?" Lore questioned, following his father at close range. "You're soaked. Do you know how easily you'll end up catching a cold like this?" he chastised.

"He's fine," Seifer reiterated before his rival could.

"Dad, do you want to at least get changed?" Lore suggested, feeling up for a set of dry clothes himself. There was bound to be more than enough stuff in his grandfather's estate.

With understanding in his eyes, Squall turned his focus to Lore. Slightly surprised at the discouragement to continue sparring, he was torn between appeasing the dark haired youth and fighting Seifer.

Seeing he had the upper hand of holding the man's affections in the palm of his hand, Lore made a compromise. While he was fairly soaked himself, it was mainly his pants and the front of his sweatshirt. Peeling his hoodie off, he offered it to his father.

Chuckling darkly, Seifer complained, "Don't take away the eye candy brat, I can see right through his shirt."

Glaring cold fire, Lore looked ready to pick his father's blade up and challenge the tall blond himself, despite not being skilled enough. Stepping closer, he blocked his father from view and practically forced the hoodie down over the former commander's head.

"Lore," Squall mumbled from beneath folds of navy blue material. "What are you going to wear?" He pointed out, grappling with the baggy garment to find the right hole his head was supposed to go through.

"I'm fine," Lore returned with amusement. "I'll wear your jacket," he elaborated when grey-blue eyes seemed unamused.

The day had dwindled, one hour bleeding into the next. Seifer and Squall couldn't recall how many times they'd gone at it, only that the desire for more still coursed through their bodies.

Sweaty and tired, the two decided to call it quits when the light of the sun was gone and neither felt certain they could stand properly. Sated for the moment, it was almost a certainty that such a day could not only come around every sixteen years.

Without cause or prompting, Seifer began laughing. Sprawled out on the ground, muscles sore and bruised all over, he simply laughed. It was truly a pleasure, an addicting one at that. "Same time tomorrow?" he questioned, knowing he wasn't the only one who wanted more.

Filled with disappointment suddenly, Squall cursed at not having the free time. "I can't. There's a mission."

Groaning as he sat up, Seifer took in their surroundings, wondering if anyone would be able to fix what they'd done.

"Next Saturday," Squall suggested in a quiet voice.

"It's a date," Seifer said loud enough for anyone nearby to hear. With amusement, he watched as the angry guard dog stalked closer, the scowl being one of a kind that could only be inherited.

Scowling in turn, Squall expressed his dislike for the blond picking on his son. "Could you maybe not be a complete ass around him?" The brunet bit out tersely, emphasizing the 'him' to remind Seifer that Lore was very much the man's own son.

"It doesn't matter," Lore said defiantly, making a show of tendering his father while ignoring the other man. "If he doesn't care, then neither do I."

"Lore," Squall mumbled, searching his son's eyes for some flicker of refuting truth. Did the boy really feel that way? Was it just him who felt that it would be impossible to ignore the sharing of blood with someone? Considering people called him an ice prince, it was surprising that everyone else seemed to not care.


	11. Chapter 11

Defining Love

Chapter Eleven

On a joint mission together, Squall met up with Irvine on the Monday following his rather eventful weekend. With his world shaken from its comfortable niche, he was every bit desperate for even a little counseling.

"Let me get this straight," Irvine drawled lazily, hiding his avid interest in the matter. "Seifer Almasy is in Esthar, Lore knows about the guy, Lore went to see the guy, then you went to see the guy, and yesterday you three got together for a happy little spar?"

Nodding, Squall confirmed the reiterated points that had taken him a good ten minutes to get out even when using fewer words. While he hadn't conveyed the finer details involving Lore not exactly getting along with Seifer, he wasn't up for any lengthy storytelling when he had something else to put on the table for discussion.

Whistling, Irvine tipped his hat so to ride lower. Reclining in his seat against the hull of the swaying ship, currently en route to Centra, the gunman gave his commanding officer a stern gaze, darkly shadowed by the brim of his hat. Determining that there was more the tightlipped man hadn't mentioned, he questioned, "Is there something else? Selphie said you sounded a little weird when you called Saturday."

While Squall wondered how he might have sounded weird, he procrastinated actually answering Irvine. At length, he found no way around it if he wanted advice. "There was something I wanted to ask your opinion on," he muttered.

"Oh?" Irvine intoned, leaning forward with rapt attention now that Squall seemed committed enough to speak in complete sentences. "There are generally only two things I'm good for. Either you're having women trouble or gun trouble. For the sake of my own assurance on this mission, I'll assume you don't need my help in figuring which end the bullet comes out of."

With a halfhearted glare, Squall expressed his feelings on having anyone determine what he was getting at before managing to get there in his own good time. Having had all weekend to consider how he should approach Irvine about it, Squall had decided vagueness was best. "When someone kisses you on the cheek, what does it imply?"

Violet-blue eyes sparkled. Squall having trouble with the ladies was the greatest news he'd heard in years. The former commander couldn't stay single forever, but after sixteen years of flying solo, it seemed as though that might end up being the case.

Unable to suppress the need to know every detail, right down to the time and weather on the day it happened, Irvine feigned only mild interest for the sake of not scaring the brunet off. Clearing his throat and taking the extra moment to calm himself, he commented, "It can mean a hundred different things. It all depends on the circumstances."

Frowning, Squall was hardly enthused about divulging details. Reluctantly, he offered, "Say it was a kiss goodbye."

Pretending to mull the fact over, Irvine shook his head. "It could still mean a whole lot of things."

Shifting in his seat across from the gunman, Squall seemed to squirm with discomfort.

Feeling as though the brunet were two seconds away from dismissing it all together, Irvine intervened. "I kiss you on the cheek all the time," he said, casting a quick glance towards the bow of their enclosed ship to make certain the cabin door was closed. It would hardly be appropriate to talk about how he kissed his commanding officer, at least when others could hear.

Having considered that, Squall had already rejected the idea that it had been a quick peck from a friend. Cale was his friend, but he doubted friendship was the reasoning behind the action. "It wasn't like that," he admitted.

Assessing that their privacy was ensured, Irvine continued, "Okay, let me ask you this, were there witnesses?" Witnesses often meant it was done for show, usually a marking of territory.

Squall nodded.

"Who?" Irvine followed up, a little too quickly for his own good.

Biting his lip, Squall forced himself to keep going. It was a lot easier to imagine himself having the conversation with Irvine than actually having it. "Lore and Seifer," he replied quietly.

Now Irvine had to know. "Who kissed you?" he asked. To think there was someone brave enough out there to befriend Squall was astonishing, and to have kissed the former commander was nearly unbelievable. Yet, Irvine could do nothing but give the person props for it. Not only did this mystery man have balls, but the guy had also managed to snatch Squall's attention by it.

Sighing, Squall stated, "I feel like I'm making this out to be something it's not."

"Well, I've never known you to take anything to heart unless it's significant."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Squall explained, "Lore was upset after it, which got me thinking."

"I see," Irvine murmured. None too subtly, he reiterated, "Who kissed you?"

"Cale," Squall mumbled, almost too quiet to be heard.

Running the name through his mental directory, Irvine eventually landed on a familiar marker. Chuckling, the gunman sat back once more. "Laguna's secretary? Now this is surprising." If Selphie caught wind of any of this, he had a feeling they'd be moving back to Esthar in a heartbeat.

"He's a professor at Orion University now," Squall corrected.

A broad grin threatened to betray Irvine's excitement. "And you would know?" he queried lightly.

"We hang out," Squall explained grudgingly, half wondering if he was being made a fool of at the moment.

"_Just_ hang out?" Irvine pressed with an undertone of lewdness.

"Yes," Squall hissed, sending a warning glare to his friend. "We're friends." When it seemed like the gunman was going to speak again, he added, "_Just_ friends."

"But he kissed you," Irvine pointed out.

"On the cheek," Squall reminded.

"Are you trying to get me to refute what you've already concluded?" Irvine quipped with a smirk. "You're defending that it was done in friendship while at the same time bringing it up because you think it's something else entirely."

Squall scowled, hating how right Irvine was. "Whatever," he mumbled, sitting back and crossing his arms.

"Do you want to know what I think?" Irvine baited, confident the socially stunted brunet was speaking with him as a last resort.

It was several moments before the stubborn lion raised grey-blue eyes to signal that the gunman should speak his peace.

"I think you haven't been seriously interested in someone since Rinoa. I think sixteen years is long enough to devote to your son. I think that it's only slightly weird that we're talking about another guy as your love interest. And I think this college professor is probably head over heals for you already."

Wide eyed, Squall stared at the auburn haired sharpshooter. He wasn't sure which was more disturbing-- Lore saying that Cale wanted to sleep with him or Irvine saying that Cale was in love with him.

Pointing an index finger at the reclusive lion, Irvine directed, "You shouldn't be hung up over whether this guy likes you. What you should be most concerned with is asking yourself if you like him back."

"…" Squall stared, drawing a blank.

"Just think about it," Irvine encouraged. "While I've personally always been partial to the ladies, any well constructed body deserves ogling from time to time. Now don't get me wrong here, but I think it'd be easier to imagine you hanging off the arm of someone like that professor." In truth, Irvine didn't honestly feel that Squall was better suited for men. He simply wanted to encourage any possible relationship. Heterosexual or homosexual, it would still involve Squall getting laid on a regular basis.

Scowling, Squall resented the implication that he fit the role of a woman in any relationship. His mood worsened when he reminded himself just how ridiculous it was to argue such a comment when he was currently the only male in existent to have given birth.

"Just think about your true feelings," Irvine asserted once more. "Is he good looking? Are you attracted to him? Can you stand to be around him for more than an hour at a time?"

"I'm not actually going to answer you," Squall muttered darkly when violet-blue eyes seemed to gaze at him expectantly.

Scoffing, the gunman shrugged. "I see, but you'll kiss and tell."

"Irvine," Squall groaned in exasperation, already having enough to think about without sharing it with someone else.

---

It was Friday evening and Squall was fighting the urge to stand up and pace back and forth. Casually dressed in a pair of jeans and slate grey sweater-shirt, he was alone in his apartment with nothing to distract his brooding mind. He'd spent his entire scouting mission in Centra being teased relentlessly by Irvine. Mentally vowing to never seek the gunman's advice again, he doubted that he'd ever hear the end of it. If the scouting mission hadn't been completed a day ahead of schedule, he'd have gone insane. The constant innuendos had made him afraid to make a single sound the entire time. Irvine could make anything seem dirty.

As adept as Squall was at separating his personal life from work, Irvine had been there each night to kindly remind him what he'd have to deal with the second he returned to Esthar.

Having returned the day before, he'd spent the entire Thursday doing nothing but brooding in lost thought. He'd addressed every sore issue that he'd ignored over the years.

Lore was basically his life and had been since the war ended. He was currently still in denial about what to do when Lore left him, which would likely be in a couple more years. Unlike Irvine and Selphie, he didn't have any other children. In fact, he couldn't imagine having any other children, but that wasn't the point. The point was that he had indeed devoted his life to raising a son he hadn't originally wanted. The circumstances were stacked up in an order that left Squall alone, or at least lonely, without Lore.

SeeD had become more of a necessity than way of life for him. He'd spent his childhood revering the mercenaries of every garden and had felt great honor in becoming a cadet. Now, he did it solely for the money. He doubted that he'd ever feel the thrill of battle again, not like when he fought with Seifer. It wasn't likely that he'd be able to immerse himself in work as SeeD, which left him nowhere once again.

It was pathetic on many levels, but Squall was determined to do something about it. A male lover was hardly any sane solution to his predicament. He'd only ever been with women and hadn't been very successful even with that. Rinoa was the last person he'd been seriously involved with and he'd never even slept with her. Having known about his pregnancy, he'd felt an obligation to not tie her to himself until she fully understood how screwed up things would become. There had been a handful of women over the years, but each and every one of them had seen him only as Commander Leonhart. It also didn't help that he'd always felt a certain roadblock when it came to the point of introducing anyone to Lore.

Picking a long term partner wasn't exactly his forte in any respect. Basically raised to become a fighter, his ideals were slightly different than the average civilian. Strength and skill earned his respect and also attracted him. While he'd never been drawn to anyone so far as lusting after them, seeing a sculpted body was arousing if only faintly. To know the labor behind it, to determine that the person was hardworking and someone who could understand a way of life that was similar to his own, that's what captured his interest.

While society revered the beautiful and thin, there was a difference from the sort of beauty he found in others. If he saw a stick figure body, he hardly spared it a single glance. However, if he saw muscle definition or any physical skill, then his interest was caught.

Honestly, while his preference was neither here not there regarding gender, he didn't need any more grief about being gay. He'd dealt with enough after stepping down as Balamb Garden's Commander.

The advice Squall had received, which had been jumbled between perverted comments about cocked guns, was to seriously consider whether or not he could possibly be attracted to Cale. It was difficult just thinking about it. Cale was more like a friend than anything else.

Physically, the man was handsome, though he'd never found himself gazing with want and an open mouth. Younger than himself by two years, the college professor seemed more knowledgeable about worldly affairs than anyone else, which instigated some interesting conversations that he enjoyed listening to. Significantly taller than himself, he was dwarfed by the other man whenever they walked side by side. Tall and broad in frame, there seemed a dormant strength in the man that might have rivaled Seifer's if Cale had ever received the proper training. Though not a fighter, swimming competitively for nearly twenty years had left behind a well-toned figure.

Growing increasingly frustrated, Squall decided to take a trip to see Cale in person. He was sick of brooding. With Lore at another soccer match, it was the perfect opportunity to clear matters up. He wouldn't sit around trying to figure out if he should start a relationship with a person if he wasn't even certain they liked him.

---

After a fifteen-minute drive across the first district of the city, Squall waited patiently on the professor's couch. With an order of coffee on the way, he suddenly felt as though he could understand Zell's incessant need to fidget and squirm.

Managing to carry two mugs of steaming coffee in one hand, Cale soon joined the silent brunet. "Here you go," he said, carefully taking Squall's drink from his odd grip and offering it with his free hand. His appearance was slightly disheveled with a missing tie and first couple buttons on his white dress shirt undone. His shirt was not nearly as neatly tucked into his black dress pants as when he'd arrived home, but grading midterms and reviewing thesis papers often left him in such a state. There was also the small factor of spending an entire week wondering what would become of Squall and him.

As one bedroom flat, Cale's apartment was suited for himself and his lifetime supply of reading material. Between grading papers, compiling lectures, and making ends meet with the occasional article for the reputed Timber Maniacs, his living space reflected his habitual engrossment in paperwork and book pages. The walls were not adorned with pictures, but bookshelves. The long desk nearest a set of windows, currently with the blinds drawn shut, was the most cluttered area and obviously where he spent most of his time. There was a small kitchen nook and partially enclosed area where his bedroom was placed. Hardly used to entertaining guests, the couch and coffee table were the only other objects in the sparsely furnished setting.

Taking a tentative sip of his coffee, Squall almost blushed when realizing it was black. A quick glance over at the light brown liquid in the professor's cup informed him that Cale knew how he took his coffee. The younger man hadn't even asked, as if knowing were the most natural thing in the world.

"I owe you an explanation," Cale began, knowing exactly what his stoic companion wanted to address. "It would be dishonest to say I didn't mean anything by it. While I cannot deny that I have feelings for you, I had hoped to spend more time with you casually."

"…" Squall was at a loss.

Running a hand through short strands of silver-white hair, Cale sighed. He hadn't chosen the right words. "That sounded wrong," he said. Taking a moment to better prepare himself to make a statement that best expressed his feelings, he tried again, "What I mean is, I never expected anything to happen between us. I knew from the beginning that the most I could hope for was your friendship."

"From the beginning?" Squall questioned, wondering just how long Cale had liked him in such a way.

Drink forgotten on the small square table before the couch, Cale braced himself before continuing. Head dropping to rest in his hands, he waved goodbye to his pride and admitted, "I fell in love with you the moment I first saw you. I think I'd been working for the President a whole month before first seeing you, and that was it for me."

Squall felt as though his whole face must have turned red. The urge to dig a hole in the floor arose quickly. Wanting to hide his face at the moment, he instead busied himself with setting his mug down on the nearby coffee table. Conveniently, his unmannered hair fell to cover his eyes. He didn't know much about love at first sight, but that wasn't what really mattered. For Cale to be saying these things to him, he didn't know what to do. Perhaps he should have taken an extra day to consider Irvine's words. Brooding wasn't all that bad once he got used to it, he shouldn't have given up on it so soon.

"Squall," Cale called again, this time successfully managing to draw the brunet from lost reverie. It was hardly his intention to put Squall on the spot like this. He probably should have thought more about his actions on the previous Friday, but there had just been something about the ex-knight's presence and the troublesome situation that had compelled him to do it.

Glancing up, Squall brought his attention back to the white haired man seated next to him. He felt a sort of constrictiveness around his chest, as though short of breathe. Rarely presented with such situations, he concluded that no amount of forewarning would have prepared him.

"Is it possible to just forget about it?" Cale questioned, successfully managing to mask how adverse he was to such an idea. While he couldn't help but long for something more with Squall, he knew what reality had in store and feared that not forgetting would mean losing everything.

Frowning, Squall asked, "Did you ever plan to tell me?"

"In my will," Cale answered. While that was pretty much the truth of it, he'd known from the start that something would eventually slip. The tug of war between wanting to express his love and his fear at what doing so would lose him couldn't have remained stalemated forever.

Scowling, Squall informed, "I'm serious."

"I wasn't," came the solemn reply. "My intentions have never been anything but upfront. I never intended to be anything but friends."

Confused and somewhat annoyed at never seeing it himself, Squall questioned, "And that would make you happy?" It was ridiculous to do something like that. Carrying on with buried emotions could only make a person miserable. While he was hardly an expert in matters of the heart, this was simply common sense. It was living a lie, and he felt confident he could relate to the oppressing feeling of it all.

Smiling gently, crimson eyes softening as he stared unwaveringly, Cale confessed, "Seeing you happy makes me happy." Some times he wondered if his resolve was enough to control his emotions. At the moment, seeing Squall's pale cheeks tinged with embarrassment, he was terribly ashamed to find the reaction cute. He should be feeling guilty at causing the brunet distress, not enticed by it. "It doesn't matter if you don't talk freely with me or if I can never be as good a friend as the ones you grew up with. I'm happy just to keep you company when you have no one else."

Squall felt a pang of guilt at Cale's words. If Irvine were still in Esthar, he'd probably never have given the professor the time of day. In many ways, he was just using the younger man.

"I'm sorry if this causes you trouble," Cale stated.

Brows drawing together in a lost expression, Squall stared into the other man's oddly colored eyes for a long moment. What had he been expecting? It might have been easier if Cale weren't being so nice about it. Easier to do what though; let the guy down, cut all ties?

With a wry smile and a gaze that betrayed his longing, Cale reached out and simply cupped Squall's cheek. He made no further movements when grey-blue eyes widened slightly in shock and even greater confusion. "Please don't leave me entirely," he requested quietly.

Fighting to determine some course of action, Squall felt it would be best to simply say he needed more time. However, he hated being indecisive and couldn't bring himself to say anything, which was even worse.

"You need time to think," Cale observed.

With a bare nod, Squall caved into his desire to procrastinate dealing with any of it. The situation he was presented with seemed to finally set in. His attention was suddenly drawn to the hand still touching his cheek and the short proximity between them. Wondering briefly if Cale were going to kiss him again, his eyes darted to the man's lips. He blushed when returning his focus to crimson eyes and realizing his drift of thought had been noticed.

"I don't know what's going through that head of yours," Cale said. Leaning in closer, his hand moved to gently rest against the nape of a slender neck. "Stop me any time," he murmured before closing the distance between them.

Squall felt the relaxed hold at his neck, useless in its gentleness that wouldn't even have kept a newborn in place. With the sort of impassiveness that he'd presented the entire situation with, he let Cale kiss him.

Barely a ghosting touch on his lips, Squall began to wonder if Cale were a thirty-two year old man in love or a fourteen-year-old boy with a crush. As if in answer to his unasked question, the exchanged deepened. In a firmer press, their lips were meshed together, a slow and subtle movement to it. At the feel of another hand seeking to find placement along his jaw line, he froze for a moment, but found himself invariably drawn right back in.

At the sudden vibration of his cell phone, Squall reared back, slick lipped and fearful that he'd just made a huge mistake. Hastily answering the call, his hands fumbled to find the whirring device in his jean pocket. Managing to answer it with at least some of his dignity intact, he cleared his throat before speaking, "Leonhart." At least he'd gotten his name right.

"Dad," Lore greeted on the other end with slight concern.

Squall berated himself for not checking the caller ID first. When it was Lore he never answered so formally. "Hey," he muttered before it became obvious he was entirely frazzled at the moment. As his mind slowly caught up with him, he managed to remember that there had been a soccer game. "Is the game over already?" he questioned.

"Yeah. The Toramas remain undefeated." There was an uncertain pause. "Are you okay?" the young man asked with evident concern in his tone.

"Fine," Squall answered, unable to look at Cale.

"I'll be home in a few minutes. Are we ordering pizza tonight or are you in the mood for something else?"

Squall fought to keep his composure when the cushion he sat on shifted as Cale stood up. Bowing his head, he covered his eyes with one hand while holding the phone to his ear with the other. His mind was in two different places, jumping back and forth but to no avail for either situation. The sound of the coffee mugs chinking together told him that Cale was expecting his immediate departure.

"Dad?" Lore prompted.

"Uhh," Squall intoned, trying to figure a good way to explain that he wasn't currently at home. "I can pick up some takeout from Joney's on my way home," he answered.

"Oh," Lore replied. "I didn't know you were out."

Swallowing thickly, hating the bitterness that came with not being entirely honest with his son, Squall said, "If you want pizza that's fine, but I'll be going by the place anyway."

"Joney's sounds good. I like anything Galbadian."

"I know," Squall replied, having made the suggestion for that very reason.

"So where are you right now?" Lore inquired with a note of hesitation, as if detecting that his father didn't want to tell him.

Squall felt the return of Cale's presence, hovering behind the couch, purposely keeping silent for his sake. Shaking his head to rid himself of the inclination to lie, he admitted, "I'm at Cale's apartment. I was just leaving."

There was a long moment of silence, in which Squall knew his son was probably staring with disbelieving eyes.

TBC…

A/N Okay, before I have to start dodging everything thrown my way, I'd like to remind everyone that this is a Seifer/Squall fic for a reason. I'm not spoiling any surprise, just reminding everyone before I start ducking the flying keyboards. Now you may throw the keyboard at my head, though I'm not entirely to blame… Irvine encouraged it, so yell at him.

I was rather sluggish in writing this chapter because I've been dealing with a bloody wisdom tooth that's giving me grief. (It's not literally bloody. I just love the expression.) After tomorrow though, when they pluck out the tooth that's in the way, it should be smooth sailing. (I'm knocking on wood since I know I won't be just having one wisdom tooth coming in.)

Thank you guys for the reviews, they really keep me going and remind me why I'm sharing the story. Oh, and I wanted to mention that I have another one-shot in the works. I started it on Friday the 13th because I love Halloween and all things associated with it, so I was in particularly high spirits that day. It might turn into a really long one-shot or a short fic, but either way it's Seifer/Squall with Squall accidentally becoming a cat-boy. Anyway, I'll probably be posting it on October 31st, even though it really doesn't have anything to do with Halloween. I have no idea what I'll title it yet, but I'll have more information in my next update for Defining Love.


	12. Chapter 12

Defining Love 

Chapter Twelve

It was Saturday morning and Squall stood in the kitchen making breakfast. Wearing two shirts, a short sleeve of red over a long sleeve of white, and a worn pair of baggy blue jeans, the events of his day were still undecided. Lore had practice at ten o'clock, and like always, needed to eat before going. His attempt to make a mental list of things he could pick up at the store proved futile when he seemed incapable of concentrating on anything else but what had happened the night before.

The previous night had been one of many recent disasters, but he was hopeful that the morning would bring a change.

Squall never understood just how harsh silence could be. He'd never related to the sort of annoyance his friends had expressed about his own less than talkative tendencies. Now he knew quite well why it was more than an annoyance. It actually hurt.

He and Lore had eaten dinner in silence. The boy hadn't said more than a quick 'thank you' when finished. Feeling horrible about it, wanting to say something but not knowing what, Squall had been left to watch his son go to bed early. He never recalled wishing to know the ending scores of any soccer game so badly, or feeling as though shouting in anger would be a preferable scenario. He would have even preferred another awkwardly embarrassing lecture about not putting himself in situations to be raped.

Squall was drawn back to the task at hand when the toast finished, sounding with a popping spring. Moving about from one area to the next, he tried to keep at least part of his mind on what he was doing.

"Dad," Lore spoke quietly from the kitchen's entrance.

Inwardly startled, Squall calmly finished placing an omelet onto a plate before turning around. Immediately noticing darkened circles beneath blue-green eyes, he wondered whether it was okay for Lore to go to practice. "Are you feeling okay?" he questioned. It was unusual for the young man to not be dressed by eight o'clock, and it was approaching nine.

Brows drawing together in a pained expression, Lore hurried closer. After giving his father the silent treatment over something that probably wasn't even the man's fault, he woke up to find his breakfast all prepared as though he hadn't behaved like a complete jerk.

"I'm sorry," Lore said as he collided against his father's chest.

Uncertain for a moment, Squall eventually replied, "It's okay." Sighing, he returned the apologetic embrace. "You look tired."

Tightening his hold, Lore explained, "I couldn't sleep." After a comforting moment, when relief finally began to set in, he commented, "You always say not to go to bed angry. Now I know why." He'd spent the first four hours of tossing and turning with the expectation that his father would quietly knock on his bedroom door and make things right again. Then he'd realized he was sixteen years old and that if he stormed off to bed early, there was no more stealing into his father's bed for comfort later on or having the man come to him. It was a harsher lesson in practice, to learn that certain comforts were taken away as he aged.

"Are you okay to go to practice?" Squall questioned, ruffling short strands of dark hair as the boy pulled back.

"Dad," the young man asserted firmly, ignoring his father's question. "What were you doing at Cale's apartment? You said you weren't dating."

Taking a moment to figure a proper answer, Squall realized there really wasn't one. Shaking his head, he informed, "I don't know." Had he gone to confirm that Cale saw him as more than a friend, or had he gone with the unconscious intent to expose himself to the chance of beginning something more than friendship?

Eyes widening in shock, Lore stared with mounting dread. "It really happened. You just woke up there." His worst fears had come true. Drugged and left without any memory, his father had woken up in Cale's apartment. There was no telling what had happened, but he could take a few guesses.

Frowning, Squall shook his head again. "I went to see him to straighten something out." Recalling the gentle nature of the professor, he tried to convey the harmlessness he detected from the man. "I've met my share of bad people. Cale isn't a bad person."

Stunned once more, Lore was at least soothed to know nothing perverse had been done to his father. Nonetheless, to be pleading Cale's case and to have been at the man's apartment meant that there was something going on. "Why?" he pressed. "When you know it makes me worry, why are you around him alone? If something ever happened, I'd never forgive myself."

"Lore," Squall chastised. "If something ever happened, it wouldn't be your fault."

"It would be!" Lore affirmed heatedly. "I can protect you now. I'm sixteen." His father of all people should know of the capabilities of someone his age. If the former commander had only been seventeen when saving the world, then he could at least protect one person at sixteen.

"That's not how it works," Squall stated. "I'm your dad. I protect you. No matter how much you grow up, that will always be my job."

With an angry glare at the countertop behind his father, Lore protested, "That's not fair."

Sighing, Squall gave a faint smile of understanding. "You can help protect what's most precious to me in this world," he offered in compromise.

After a moment of staring into his father's somewhat hypnotizing eyes, Lore blushed. "Me?" he questioned meekly.

Nodding, Squall gave a final ruffle to dark hair before turning away and attending to the boy's breakfast. He was surprised at the hand that grasped the back of his shirt.

"That's not fair either," Lore muttered. "I can't be angry at all when you say that."

With a soft clatter of setting the silverware on the plate, Squall bowed his head. "Would you hate me for dating Cale?" he questioned solemnly. Perhaps he hadn't taken his son's feelings as seriously as he should have. If Lore were one hundred percent sincere about disliking Cale, then he didn't have to worry about sorting out his feelings, because there was no choice but to break his friendship altogether.

Fisting the back of his father's shirt, Lore stared at the back of lengthy brown hair incredulously. "What exactly did you go there to straighten out?" he inquired hesitantly.

"…" Squall wasn't exactly game for any discussion on the matter.

"Dad," Lore pressed, tugging at the shirt in his grasp, urging the truth from his father's mouth.

The sound of someone knocking impatiently on the apartment door was unexpected. As both heads whipped around to stare at the kitchen's entrance, the knocking continued.

Angry for the interruption, Lore stalked away. "I'll get it," he muttered darkly.

Sighing heavily, Squall leaned back against the counter and took a moment to think of what he could tell his son when he didn't even know what to tell himself.

"Greetings!" Seifer's voice called out boisterously.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Squall groaned. He didn't know whether to curse the interruption or give thanks. While he had an extension to think, he now had Seifer to deal with.

Striding into the kitchen, Seifer grinned broadly from ear to ear. Genuinely happy, he was elated at the prospect of another spar. "Ready to fight?" His hair shortened for the single purpose of not getting in his eyes, he was dressed down in jeans and black long sleeve shirt. In his arms he held a black leather jacket, apparently intent on staying long enough to keep from overheating.

Gaze narrowing as he eyed the ex-knight, taking in the nostalgic sight of short golden blond hair, Squall replied, "Not quite."

"It's custom to be invited in first. Otherwise it's breaking and entering," Lore said as he stormed around the ex-knight's blocking frame to stand between the taller man and his father. "This is not your home to barge into."

With a mischievous gleam to his eyes, Seifer's smile turned into a smirk. "I came here for your dad, not to play house. I promise to return him in one piece, even if I have my way with him first." He hadn't met such a mama's boy since Dincht.

"And what exactly do you mean by that?" Lore bit out with a low warning in his tone.

"Use your imagination," Seifer returned, humored at getting a rise out of the boy so quickly. It made him want to do more, perhaps blatantly pinch Leonhart's butt and see what mayhem followed.

Stepping forward, Squall gave a firm squeeze to his son's shoulder. "He's playing with you," he soothed, calmly proceeding to walk past the antagonizing blond and place Lore's breakfast on the table at the other end of the kitchen.

"And you would know all about my playing," the ex-knight quipped.

"…" Squall didn't reply, knowing better than anyone what Seifer's games were and how to bring an end to them.

"I didn't know you were sparring so early today," Lore commented as he none too subtly stepped around the blond man, once again placing himself before his father.

Casting a an unappreciative glare over his shoulder at Seifer, Squall replied, "Neither did I."

Eyes sparkling, Seifer stared right back. Saturday hadn't come soon enough and he'd at least had the discretion to not come knocking on Leonhart's door at midnight. "Can you blame me?" he question, his voice deeper with a serious edge.

Feeling leveled by the excitement he saw in Seifer's eyes, Squall stared for a long moment, unable to look away. He understood exactly how Seifer felt, though he'd had various distractions to occupy his time. There seemed so much more than excitement in the man's eyes though, something he wasn't sure he was recognizing correctly.

"Dad," Lore called, eyes darting back and forth between the two older men. Bringing the staring contest to an end, he simply stepped in front of his father's line of vision.

Snapping back, still drawn by the odd sense of need he thought he detected in Seifer's eyes, Squall managed to say, "You should eat."

Frowning, Lore stood his straightest, just in case his height wasn't enough to block the ex-knight from view. "What about him?" he questioned, not understanding how his father could take the intrusion in stride so easily.

"I'm not hungry, but thanks all the same," Seifer spoke as he sidled closer. He loved the entertainment value he was given when around the doting duo. The son was sensitive to comments about Squally-boy, and if he angered the son enough, then he in turn pissed off Squally-boy. It was almost too easy.

"Ignore him," Squall suggested evenly.

"If you're sparring, I'm going with you," Lore stated firmly.

Having been distracted enough to forget about the casual agreement for another spar, Squall hadn't woken up with the intention of meeting Seifer that day. However, Seifer's rude disruption actually presented him with one of the best ways to sort his mind out. Entirely game for a spar, Squall didn't care where or when, just that it happened sometime before he met with Cale again.

Seeing resolute determination in blue-green eyes, the former commander conceded, "That's fine, but after practice."

"You'll wait?" Lore questioned with an eager tone.

Squall nodded. His concern over the haggard state of his son was hardly abated though. "Are you feeling okay?" he questioned.

"He's fine," Seifer answered with underlying frustration, all but waving his hands in front of Leonhart's face to draw more attention. "And why wait? Let's go now, just you and me."

"I'm going too," Lore affirmed, turning around to regard the taller man. It was a sad day for anyone who presumed to sway his father's choice when he was involved.

"Why?" Seifer said in complaint. "It'll be he exact same thing you saw before. You'll get bored."

Crossing his arms, Lore shot back, "If it's so boring, then why are you so eager to do it?"

"'Cause it feels so damn good," Seifer lilted lewdly, his eyes once again locking onto Leonhart's to express something he couldn't put into words.

With a temper that seemed to become short fused around the ex-knight, Lore's fists clenched and he feared that if he uncrossed his arms he'd wind up throwing a punch. "Stop looking at him like that," he ordered.

"Like what?" Seifer questioned, intense gaze still boring into stormy blue depths. There was almost something palpable between them, something unidentifiable but that he felt he'd understand better if he could just kept looking. He was excited to fight again, to feel the thrill of battle that had been missing for so long, but there was definitely something else.

"Like you want to jump him," Lore pointed out bluntly. "What are you, gay?"

Eyes narrowing, Seifer's focus was effectively broken. Giving the dark haired youth an ill-humored glare, he jibed, "Straight as I am, I might make an exception to bang your dad."

"If you lay a finger on him-" Lore began in warning, but was cut off.

"Seifer, you're thirty-five years old. Try acting your age," Squall reprimanded, feeling as though he understood Irvine's complaints about siblings that couldn't get along. When the former knight opened his mouth to protest, he held up a hand and added, "Being born an asshole is no excuse."

"Ouch puberty boy, that hurts coming from you," Seifer retorted.

With a sardonic gaze, Squall conveyed the message that he had no patience for games, least of all the kind that upset his son. "This isn't my dorm room, you can't just sneak in every time you feel like it." He recalled the last time Seifer had snuck into his apartment and the less than pleasant events that had ensued.

Scoffing, Seifer reminded, "I told you the security was lax."

"Dorm room?" Lore remarked incredulously. "He used to sneak into your dorm room?"

"Only on cold and lonely nights," the blond announced proudly.

"Don't start," Squall said impassively, walking towards the kitchen entrance. He'd already warned Lore about Seifer, and wasn't going to repeat himself about how half of what the man said was a lie and all of it intended to incite anger.

Moving to follow, Lore questioned, "Where are you going?"

"My phone's ringing," the former commander replied, steps never faltering as he left the pair alone on the hopes that they wouldn't kill each other. He hadn't seen Seifer act so antagonistic towards anyone since Zell, and it was slightly disturbing for him to witness while knowing that Lore was the man's son.

With oddly matching frowns, it took the other two a silent moment to actually hear the phone ringing distantly. Suddenly left to themselves, the atmosphere grew terribly tense and awkward, much the same as it had been on their meeting on the street outside the café.

"Now we're even," Seifer said, strolling closer to the table and taking a seat. "You barged into my hotel room, so I came here for a visit." Far from the truth, it served to break the silence. As he'd originally declared, his intentions were to retrieve his sparring partner. He was not a man of patience and couldn't wait another hour before clashing blades with Leonhart. Ever since the previous Saturday, there had been desire and need building within him at an exponential rate. He suspected it had been there all along, but that single day of sparring had stirred it all up and opened a tap that couldn't be closed.

Glaring at the back of the ex-knight head, Lore stalked closer and grabbed his plate from in front of the man. Taking a seat, he made a point of claiming that the food was his. "My dad doesn't have the time to appease your whims, even if you're an old friend."

Barking with laughter, Seifer refuted, "We've never been friends kid. We've been rivals since the day his sorry ass first showed up in Arc."

"And spending time with someone you don't like is the best way to relive your youth?" Lore quipped, berating himself for nearly leaving his argument for the sake of asking what 'arc' was.

"Hardly," the blond said. "There's no reliving what you're already living pipsqueak. When you're old enough to not get thrown out of a bar, then you can presume to say I'm not youthful."

Lore scoffed. "You look twice my dad's age."

Sore about his age, having lost seven years and only feeling twenty-something, Seifer defended, "Manual labor under the sun, you half-wit. I was a fisherman." The constant squinting had left him with prominent crows feet that stuck out like a sore thumb in contrast to the rich tan of the rest of his skin.

"I'm sorry, was I supposed to know anything about you?" the young man questioned.

Seifer gave a half smirk. While they hadn't properly hashed out the issue of him being the kid's dad, he knew that no one was shedding any tears over it. "It's a little late to start feeling abandoned when you obviously love having Leonhart all to yourself."

Pretending he didn't hear the man's words, Lore continued, "Most men these days don't mind using some sort of wrinkle cream."

Having had his fill of remarks about his age, Seifer sat forward and leaned close over the table. "Maybe you're right. Think of the versatility. It could get rid of wrinkles and lube your dad's ass up nice and good for when I fuck his brains out."

Stunned into silence, Lore stared wide-eyed. He debated how easily he could plead self-defense, his hands edging to pick his plate up with the intention of smashing it over the man's head.

Squall entered the kitchen again, the look on Lore's face all he needed to understand how the unfamiliar pair had gotten along. Coming up behind Seifer, he promptly smacked the man's head. "Stop it," he ordered.

"Well what about him then?" Seifer immediately protested, rubbing sorely where he'd been hit.

"Lore," Squall said, the stern tone in his voice effectively wiping the victorious smirk off the boy's face. "I've already told you that he does it to make you angry. Don't play into his hands so easily."

Head downcast, Lore sulked and obediently set to work on his omelet, hash browns and toast. Taking the time to calm himself, believing that his father was right and that the man was simply using empty words, he tried to refocus his thoughts. Cale was a more pertinent problem.

Squall took the opportunity of not being monitored to bend down and put an end to the particular subject of taunting the ex-knight was using. Lips ghosting over the man's ear to make certain he wasn't over heard, he whispered, "The day you try to fuck my brains out is the day I castrate you, so consider it carefully."

Ready with a retort about loving a challenge, Seifer held his tongue. He was overcome by a variety of confounding sensations. An oddly pleasant shudder ran through him. Warmth spread from his ear and down his neck as his mind kept recalling the brief feel of lips brushing against him. Quickly, his brain caught up and screamed that it had been a seriously warped reaction.

"Who called?" Lore questioned quietly, looking up with a sort of dejected uncertainty. He wondered if it were Cale.

Fingers running through short strands of raven hair that were ever so slightly flattened on one side, Squall tried to impress that becoming angry was not a sin. "Your grandfather," he answered as he walked across the kitchen to prepare himself a cup of coffee.

"Was it about my game Monday?" Lore questioned casually, his hand on autopilot as his stomach became more interested in food than conversation.

"There's some conference," Squall supplied in excuse, the two of them already knowing that Laguna was likely on the verge of tears trying to reschedule in order to make Lore's soccer game. When rescheduling failed, it resulted in frustration and endless apologies.

Shrugging, Lore expressed that it once again didn't matter. "You'll be there, right?"

"Of course," Squall returned, placing the pot of coffee back in place. Over the past ten years, he'd missed a grand total of four games. Work was second to his son.

Out of place, Seifer was occupied in a world of his own, where he was obsessed with figuring out what had just happened with the whole lips to his ear and body going haywire.

Squall gave the blond man a once over. "I'm not sparring until later," he said suggestively, hinting that perhaps Seifer should go about his day's business and meet up with him later.

Seifer didn't reply. He had a slue of comments in mind, but couldn't use them.

Mistaking the ex-knight sudden sobered demeanor for disappointment, Squall extended a hospitable hand and poured the man a cup of coffee. "How do you like it?" he questioned, his voice level not compensating for the added distance between them but capable of being heard all the same.

Jade-green eyes widened. How did he like it? He liked it rough and hard, and not involving another man in any way. Swallowing thickly, Seifer took a long moment before answering. "Sugar," he finally replied.

"Dad, what's 'arc'?" Lore questioned, his nagging curiosity forcing him to find out.

Wondering for a moment where the boy had heard about that, he strode over to the table and offered the ex-knight the drink. "It was a nickname for Matron's orphanage," he muttered, giving the blond a half-hearted glare for mentioning it.

"What's it mean?" the young man pressed, loath to witness some secret understanding between the blond man and his father whilst he remained on the outside.

Sipping his coffee, Seifer gained some level of calm, regaining his ability to think straight. Feigning normalcy, he grinned with an air of being omniscient, flaunting that he knew while the boy didn't. "Arc is short for A.R.C. It stands for Abandoned Rock Central," he informed.

Hardly satisfied with receiving an answer, Lore was reassured by the lack of sadness in his father's eyes.

"You see," Seifer persisted. "Centra is the rockiest place there is and we were like littering rocks all over the place. It fit."

"Enough," Squall said, not looking to paint his childhood in any dark colors.

"What?" Seifer remarked defensively. "Afraid I'll tell him about how much of a crybaby you were?"

Rolling his eyes, Squall muttered, "Hardly."

TBC…

A/N Okay, so relatively nothing happened and nothing was resolved, but if you go back and look for it, you'll find that I've begun to kindle Seifer's feelings for Squall. The poor man is now unable to make innuendos involving Squall because it puts images in his head.

Happy Halloween and happy release of FFXII! Thank you all for the awesome reviews. The one-shot/short ficlet I was working on didn't come along as expected, but I'm determined to post at least the first chapter. It'll be titled- Somatic Memory

I'm good for active duty again since my tooth was pulled smoothly. Supposedly the wisdom tooth will adjust accordingly and take its place. Now I can go trick or treating and reap the benefits. (It's Monty Python and the Holy Grail again this year, because it was hilarious last year and now we have a camera to record it. I am King Arthur and my sister is Patsy, and yes we do actually have a coconut that does work perfectly.)


	13. Chapter 13

Defining Love

Chapter Thirteen

"Well this is a surprise," Irvine drawled as he managed the last leg of weaving the crowded bleachers, taking a seat next to Squall. Front and center, it was a noisy home game with spectators consisting of students, parents, teachers, and anyone who knew a player or had nothing else to do on a Monday evening.

Squall called his argument with Seifer to a halt, turning his focus to the second unexpected guest of the day. "I didn't know you were coming," he greeted, not exactly ecstatic.

"I thought I'd surprise you," the gunman returned. Casually pecking a pale cheek, perhaps with the ulterior motive to remind Squall about a special someone, Irvine gave his official greeting. Leaning across the youthful looking man's lap, he then extended his hand to the ex-knight. "I didn't expect you to have the balls to show face again, but I hear you're staying in Esthar of all places," he greeted in a less warming manner than he did the former commander. Violet-blue eyes narrowed without a trace of humor.

Seifer shook the cowboy's hand firmly, smirking his arrogant smirk and not giving a damn what Kinneas thought. "Just how many guard dogs does one man need?" he questioned. He should have known considering it was Commander Leonhart, savior of the world. Apparently there was some failsafe plan consisting of an arsenal of bouncers that systematically stepped in to protect Leonhart's virginity. While he wasn't after the virgin boy's goods, he would like more than two seconds alone with the man.

"Seifer, you should leave," Squall said, eyes glued to soccer field as he valiantly tried not to become distracted.

"I came here especially for you," the ex-knight protested, having absolutely no intention of leaving without Leonhart at his side, or at least some compensating arrangement.

Relying on Lore's offensive skills to keep the players focused at the opposing team's goal, incidentally farther away from where he was seated, Squall finally tore his eyes from the game and glared at the imposing ex-knight. "I'll meet you later." Hyne knew he wouldn't be rid of the man otherwise.

"You'll come the second the game is over?" Seifer questioned, a certain childish tone of insecurity that almost alluded to his possible want for the commander to pinky swear and make it a promise. It was some twisted fate that there was finally someone in the world that was able to effectively keep Leonhart's attention away from him, and it was his own flesh and blood.

"Seifer," Squall said with an accompanying sigh. Not knowing where the man's incessant need to hound him came from, he could only be patient as always. "It could be as late as eight o'clock when it ends. Lore needs to go home and I don't even know what we're doing for dinner yet."

"Then after that. I don't care how late it is," the blond man pressed, refusing to take 'no' for an answer.

"Yes," Squall relented. "Now leave before you cause trouble."

With a victorious smile, Seifer stood up. "Bring your blade," he added. "If you're not there by nine, I'm coming to your place to get you." Eyes alight with mischievous delight, the ex-knight stared for a moment into the gunman's eyes. "Always a pleasure Kinneas, and you should know I've got the balls to do just about anything," he said in parting.

Irvine watched in annoyance as the ex-knight left, that head of blond hair visible from a mile away. "I'll have a decent range on the guy for about another ten meters, want me to put a bullet in him?" Irvine drawled, hands slipping into his coat to retrieve his gun.

"No," Squall answered, eyes turning back to the game. "It's the first half still and Mercy is up by two. Lore just made a penalty kick."

"That's my nephew," the gunman said proudly, taking a brief moment to actually watch the match that was going on. "So back to the real issue, what the hell was Seifer Almasy doing here and what are you doing with him later? I would have thought you'd have plans to be seeing someone else during after hours."

Scowling, Squall replied, "He's looking for the right place to open up a training center for gunbladists. He wants to test it out first." Why did he feel the sudden need to defend his interaction with Seifer? Even Lore accepted it grudgingly, though it was only because it was solely sparring.

"Oh, I see," Irvine commented. "May I ask about Cale? Why is it you're free to go around testing training grounds when you should be having candle lit dinners and sex 'til you can't stand?"

Eyes widening, Squall stared at Irvine as though the man had two heads. "Is that what you came here to say?"

"No, I came to make sure you were actually getting laid. I can't say I expected to have to make sure you were getting laid by the right guy though, that part is a bit unexpected."

"Irvine," Squall spoke impassively, his voice not matching his mood. "Not everything is open for discussion."

"Well it should be," the gunman returned, settling in for the long haul after realizing the match had only begun.

"Well it's not," the brunet affirmed. He didn't feel particularly open to talking about such matters in the first place, let alone in the middle of crowded bleachers. The noise and cheering didn't entirely deafen their voices, and with his luck he'd say the wrong thing when everything grew extremely quiet. Public image no longer meant anything to him, but being on school grounds seemed to make censorship necessary.

Taking a deep breath and releasing it, Irvine rocked to the side and nudged Squall to remind the man that he was only ever looking out for the inexperienced man's well being. "Are you warm enough in that jacket?" he asked in a change of pace. "I've got three layers on, you can take mine. Or even better, there's room enough for two."

Shrugging deeper into his bomber jacket, the fur collar brushing against his jaw, Squall answered, "I'm fine."

"Which generally means you're not fine, but today I'll take your word for it."

Giving the man a halfhearted glare, Squall muttered a cynical, "Thanks."

"It's not like I want to be the nagging friend or that I'm hoping you'll wake up sometime this week in someone else's bed, but I want to make sure you're not turning your back on the opportunity all together," the gunman explained. "It would be nice if you woke up in the guy's bed sometime soon," he added with a grin.

"…" Why was everyone suddenly so damn interested in his love life? Lore was worried about someone raping him and Irvine seemed to be worried that someone wasn't raping him. For once, he'd like it if someone would stop to realize that he was a grown man, capable of defending himself and not in need of some serious fucking.

"Come on Squall. I know just as well now as I ever did. You wouldn't have come to me about Laguna's secretary if the guy didn't mean enough to you to sort it all out."

"I talked to him," Squall admitted, hoping to satisfy Irvine with that much, though he knew it wasn't going to cut it. He didn't bother to point out that Cale was a political science professor, knowing the sharpshooter was hoping to goad him into making the correction. Apparently knowing someone's proper profession meant he was in love with them, as he'd been repeatedly picked on for it during their last mission.

Chuckling at the sorry attempt, Irvine gently elbowed the tightlipped man in the side. "And?" he prompted expectantly.

"And he's in love with me." Pale cheeks heated at the admission, as though he were the one with a secret love to confess.

"Uh-huh, and?" Irvine had already determined that much. He wasn't about to inform Squall that just about anyone with a little more self awareness and experience would have been able to tell that much.

"…" Frowning, grey-blue gazed at the gunman with question. Just what did the auburn haired man want him to say.

"Are you dating him? Do you like him?" the gunman pressed. As simple as liking a person could be, it was never uncomplicated when Squall was involved.

"Lore doesn't like him," the brunet said, eyes scanning the grassy field for his son.

"I see," Irvine muttered, leaving it at that. Hyne himself couldn't have talked Squall into getting together with someone without Lore's approval. Knowing the order of events he'd need to go through, he settled for pulling teeth and coaxing the sexually repressed man to divulge details on what had already occurred.

---

"Uncle Irvine," Lore spoke with forced calmness, his eyes darting to the stick shift every time the gunman used it.

"Hmm," Irvine intoned absently, eyes on the road while he enjoyed the feel of driving a brand new Pandemona Windstorm.

"Maybe you could take it easy," the dark haired youth suggested, a detectable note of nervousness in his voice.

Chuckling, Irvine assured, "I'm a good driver, and there's barely any traffic."

Throwing subtle hinting to the wind, Lore responded, "I'm not worried about traffic, I'm worried about my transmission. Who taught you to shift gears?"

Frowning, Irvine sent his nephew an insulted glare. "I've been driving since I was twelve years old. You got your license yesterday."

"Dad taught me to drive, and the gears shift without making noise when I do it," Lore shot back. Smirking, he added, "And I never stall."

"Let a man have his fun. I never get to drive anymore, your aunt sees to that," the gunman requested. "And for the record, the _airships_ I usually drive can't stall." With a 'top that' look, he returned his focus to the road.

Nodding simply to appease his uncle, Lore hid his amused smirk behind his hand. "I'm still driving back," he muttered.

"All things considered, I didn't ask you out for driving tips." Slowing and shifting to first, he slid smoothly to a stop on the side of the street. Gesturing for the boy to look out the window, he said, "This place is ten times better than that café you and Squall are always at and about fifty times cheaper."

Shaking his head, Lore informed, "I go to Lexis for the company not the coffee."

"Darlin', I've never seen anyone with such a flame for their father," the gunman stated in mild scrutiny. Habitually pulling the e-break, he cut the engine and kindly handed the keys to their rightful owner.

Rolling his eyes, having heard it all before, Lore pocketed the keys. "Don't be jealous Uncle Irvine. I had nothing to do with you not having a dad to have a complex for."

"I know you didn't get that lip from Squall. You've been seeing too much of Seifer," the auburn haired man drawled, turning to retrieve his hat form the back seat.

Finding mutual disapproval in the ex-knight's sudden presence in Esthar, Lore questioned, "Did Dad tell you about how he's been showing up?" Technically, it was only the one time, but he knew there would be more.

Scoffing, Irvine assured, "Only after I spotted them together." Squall never told anyone anything without being caught or being desperate. It wouldn't have been so bad if the former commander didn't suddenly have so many matters that needed his consult.

In the middle of opening his door, Lore froze. Brows drawn in thought he looked back at his uncle. "When did you see them together?" Unless the gunman had seen Seifer with his father that afternoon, there really wasn't any other time it could have happened.

"Today," Irvine replied without thinking. Realizing belatedly what his blunder had been, he wished Selphie were there to think up a lie. He was no good at lying, not when he had to make it up on the spot. "I mean, he mentioned something without thinking, so I called him on it."

"Riiight," Lore commented. "So if I call you on accidentally mentioning that Seifer was around my dad today, will you confess too?"

Cringing, Irvine cursed the boy's perceptiveness. "I'll tell you once we go inside and sit down," he compromised flatly.

"Lead the way," Lore said with a smile, enjoying his win over someone who was by all rights far smarter and more experienced than him.

"I'm turning into Zell," the gunman muttered to himself, placing his hat on his head as he stepped out of the sleek sunset orange car. While it stuck out like a sore thumb, he approved of the boy's tastes and took into account that Laguna had been involved in the purchasing process.

Lore matched the slow, casual gait of his uncle as they strode into The Card House. They took an entire booth for themselves, the less than crowded joint able to accommodate the small luxury of extra elbowroom. The gunman shrugged out of his long coat, enjoying the warm air and dull buzz of gamers nearby. The Card House was for playing card games and grabbing a bite to eat.

Lore glanced around, checking the place out before deciding he really didn't care where he was. Rubbing his arms to be rid of the chill he'd received from the short walk to the café, he scooted closer to the out of date heating vent on the windowsill their booth was against.

Chuckling, Irvine commented on the boy's lack of outdoor attire. "You shouldn't have insisted Squall take your coat, it was more tantrum-like than chivalrous."

Giving his uncle an incredulous look, Lore settled down as though he hadn't been cold. "It's thirty degrees out right now. Do you think I'm going to let Dad walk around in that bomber jacket as though it isn't a record low for the season?"

Not usually one to state the obvious, the longhaired cowboy pointed out, "Now Squall has two jackets and you have none."

Shrugging, Lore reasoned, "It usually takes a while for my body to cool down after a match. I was too hot to wear it and he was shivering."

"He was not shivering," Irvine refuted.

"He was," Lore shot back stubbornly. Reminding himself what his true focus should be, he shifted to what he really wanted to discuss. "So, let's talk about Seifer and my dad."

"For the record," Irvine drawled, "I actually wanted to talk to you about Cale and your dad, but we can start at point A and end at point B." If there was any chance in Squall dating someone, then it was through Lore's approval. If he was as smooth a talker as he liked to think, then he could make the boy's father's complex work to his advantage.

Lore stared with uncertainty for a long moment, searching for some answer in his uncle's oddly colored violet-blue eyes. Filing away that the man was likely more informed on what had happened at Cale's apartment than he was, he tried not to reveal that he felt like lunging across the table and demanding to be told what had happened.

Clearing his throat, seeing youthful impatience in the young man, Irvine adjusted his hat and reclined more comfortably. "Let's order first," he suggested, spotting an approaching waitress out of the corner of his eye.

As a young woman approached their booth, offering a couple menus, Irvine browsed the list curiously.

"What can I get you two to drink tonight?" the cheerful blonde questioned with a pen and pad at the ready.

Irvine pretended to mull it over for a moment before drawling, "I'd like a cup of green tea." With a crooked smile, he charmed a reflexive grin from the young woman who seemed incapable of looking away.

"Okay, one green tea, and I assume you'd like that hot given the weather we've been having," the waitress spoke, scribbling the order with her pen.

"You read my mind darlin'," Irvine said with a confirming nod.

"And what can I get you?" she questioned, her stance shifting a bit.

Lore debated the evils of having coffee when it was almost eight o'clock on a Monday night. Worn out from his game, he concluded that he still had a massive amount of homework to address before going to bed and could use the caffeine. Scouring the beverage section of the menu, he requested, "Hazelnut cappuccino."

"I'll be back shortly with your drinks and to take your dinner order," the young woman promised, leaving them with a bright smile and eyes that seemed to dance with the knowledge of being in the presence of someone possibly famous.

"Everything on the menu is great, but anything with eggs or chicken can be made better by Squall," the gunman informed, perusing the choices and pondering what he was in the mood for.

Frowning, Lore commented, "I thought we were just getting a drink."

Shrugging, Irvine informed, "It's my treat, don't worry about it."

Lore shook his head. Money wasn't the problem. "I wanted to eat a late dinner with Dad. I swear that he's been skipping meals every time I'm not eating with him."

Slouching down a bit, almost cowering behind the open menu, Irvine mumbled, "He's out with Seifer and won't be back 'til late." Coughing as though he'd simply mentioned something too trivial to pay any more attention to, he changed the subject, "I think I'm gonna order the seared tuna. It's not the freshest tuna, but they put something in the wasabi that makes the whole thing worth it."

"Uncle Irvine," Lore placated with edging exasperation, not one to fool around when it came to his father. "I'm sixteen, not six."

Feigning engrossment in the menu, Irvine glanced up and smiled. "So you are," he agreed, wondering why his tap dancing skills never helped him in dodging proverbial bullets.

"Let's backtrack to the part where you saw my dad with Seifer and keep going until the part where they'll be out late together tonight," the young man suggested, blue-green eyes staring with determination.

Setting the menu down, Irvine tipped his hat back. "It's only fair that you know everything. But for the sake of keeping our time sacred, let's make it an after dinner discussion."

Not enthused about prolonging anything, Lore felt uncomfortable in refusing the request.

Irvine knew how the boy felt, but he also knew he was bout to walk into a minefield and could use more time to prepare. "I have a feeling we might not be very agreeable, so give me one last dinner with my favorite nephew before we stop talking to each other. I'll give you every gritty detail if you can indulge me here."

Taking a deep breath and sizing his uncle up, Lore nodded in agreement. "Deal," he said, slightly wary about what could set them on opposing ends.

---

"This is perfect isn't it," Seifer said, groaning as he stretched his arms above his head. Lying on a packed dirt ground, he made certain to cradle his head with his hands so that none of his hair touched the dirt.

Making a noncommittal noise of agreement, Squall went back to ignoring that anyone else was with him. His body was tired after fighting and it was almost eleven o'clock, which was sadly his usual bedtime.

"Some rich fucker wanted to make a storage house out of it for storing all the unnecessary shit his company bought, but he went bankrupt before they even finished laying the ground." Grinning to himself, Seifer was content with his brilliant new plan for a training center. Between fishing and fighting, he had to be doing one of the two to be successful.

Squall yawned, his breathing even and the cold air taking its toll. "Are you taking it?" he questioned, stuffing his hands inside the pockets of his son's coat. With both his bomber jacket and the nylon parka, he doubt he'd become too cold even as he lay motionless and open to outer elements.

"I'd be an idiot not to. It's a fucking steal," the ex-knight declared, chuckling at nothing in particular but the hopeful prospect of starting something he'd enjoy. Fuck Fujin and Raijin, he didn't need them.

Grey-blue eyes stared up at the night sky through the unfinished roofing of the partially enclosed expanse. The abandoned structure would have to be torn down so that whatever arena or gym Seifer had in mind could be built up. In retrospect, it was rather surprising that there wasn't a better facility to train, though anyone looking for that sort of thing usually just enrolled in a garden.

"Which district are we in?" Seifer questioned, unable to keep track of all one hundred districts of the large city nation. He knew his hotel was in the sixth, and that was about it.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Squall thought about it. "Fortieth or fiftieth," he answered in estimation.

Frowning, Seifer turned his head to the side to glance at the former commander. "Well which is it?"

Shrugging subtly, Squall replied, "It depends how far west we're facing."

"How far west we're facing," Seifer repeated with a mocking tone. "What the hell does that having to do with anything?" he questioned.

Opening his eyes, Squall turned his head to look at the ex-knight. He scowled at the expectancy in jade-green eyes, as though it was his job to give some elaborate explanation. "From the presidential residence outward, the district numbers increase, but they also coordinate with direction."

"Okay," Seifer said before he learned which direction meant what. "Fortieth or fiftieth, I got it." If there was any up side to Leonhart's tendency to file away every little fact, it was that the younger man didn't spout it all off like some annoyingly smart prick, only when prompted first.

Rolling his eyes, Squall turned his attention back to the sky. It was clear and they were fairly close to the outskirts, which meant less light pollution. There wasn't much point in his staying there any longer, but he found himself reluctant to get up. Maybe he was getting old. Spars never used to leave him tired.

Sighing contently, Seifer enjoyed the view. Coming to Esthar was ironically a very good move. Maybe it was the foreign city, the busy life with crowded streets. He'd always enjoyed being out on the ocean in the middle of nowhere, but the idea of doing that forever was not very attractive. The greatest part about it all was being able to pick up his blade and have his swings countered skillfully instead of slicing the air.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Seifer just relaxed. He could see his breaths each time he exhaled heavily. At the sound of Leonhart shifting around, he wondered if he weren't the only one with a frozen ass at the moment. "This is uncomfortable," he grumbled, giving an exaggerated groan as he sat up.

"Is your kid going to flip out on me for this?" he queried with underlying mirth. "Seriously Squally-boy, what's up with him and Kinneas? You used to hate shit like that, whenever Matron tried to keep tabs on you every time you stepped out the door." Then again, Leonhart had had some sort of issue with running away, sometimes having been gone for days at a time after Sis had left.

When no reply came, Seifer wasn't surprised. He was slightly surprised, however, to be the one suggesting they head back. "It's fucking cold," he complained, wiping his hands off and taking care to remove any possible particles of dirt from his hair.

Seifer glanced Leonhart's way. Halting his attempt to stand up, he stared for a moment. "Hey," he called, waiting to see if the brunet were listening.

Curled on his side, seemingly asleep, Squall lay on the cold ground as though it were a bed. Impervious to the blond's words and the world around him, a soft sight escaped barely parted lips as he drifted further.

Blond eyebrows rose in disbelief. Entirely unguarded, falling asleep out in the open like it was nothing. "No wonder you have so many guard dogs," Seifer criticized. "You need them."

Reaching out, he nudged a shoulder. His hand sinking down against the various layers Leonhart wore, reminding him that the frame he saw was even smaller underneath.

---

Glaring sardonically across the table, Lore muttered, "What part of you coercing my dad to go out alone with that ass, isn't supposed to make me annoyed?"

"'That ass'," Irvine repeated with shared understanding. "That man has a gift for knowing exactly what annoys a person most." He'd been on the receiving end more than once during his brief encounters with the ex-knight.

Unamused, Lore simply stared. Finished with dinner, he had jumped into the question immediately.

"I see that turning sixteen pushed you past the stage where you loved my ability to not take things too seriously," the gunman commented.

Sighing as he pinched the bridge of his nose, Lore conceded that he was being a bit too hostile with his uncle. "I'm sorry, it's just been really weird lately and it's hard not to worry all the time."

"I understand," Irvine assured, folding his hands atop the table diplomatically. "In all honesty, Seifer Almasy is everything he appears to be, but sometimes that's not always bad."

Making a face of annoyance, the young man commented, "You didn't see him when he came over Saturday morning. Not even calling, it was like Dad had nothing better to do but cater to his every need. And he had this look in his eyes, like he was going to stop off at his hotel real quick and invite Dad up before jumping him."

"Overactive imaginations aside, your dad's a very good judge of character," Irvine replied. When his nephew gave him a dismissing look, he pressed, "I'm serious. You've heard the stories about your father. Being called an ice prince, he didn't waste his time on people he didn't like."

"Oh, that's reassuring," Lore said sarcastically. "Now my dad's out alone with someone he likes."

"Not like that," Irvine drawled slowly, giving the dark haired youth a piercing gaze. On some level, he supposed Seifer being Lore's father resonated deeply and might even be part of why the boy was so opposed to the ex-knight's presence. It was difficult to tell with the sort of effect Seifer was known for having on people.

Waving a hand to dismiss the notion, Lore redirected, "When did you see them together?" He was holding off on feeling hurt about anything done behind his back, firmly believing his father wouldn't be able to that even on accident, not after reconciling over Cale.

"When I showed up at your game, they were together," Irvine spoke carefully, making sure to continue before a sudden breeze announced his nephew's departure. "Squall was telling him to leave before you saw from the field. I made sure Seifer felt unwelcome on your behalf, and that's pretty much how it went."

"What did he want?" Lore inquired, interested in every little detail, wanting an estimation on how close they were sitting and where the ex-knight's hands were placed.

Not savvy of the intricacies of Squall's relationship with Seifer, Irvine bottom-lined it. "He wanted another spar, to test the fighting grounds of a training center he wants to create, or buy. Strictly business between long time rivals."

"I know you played some role in getting him to leave before I finished changing after the game." Looking to blame someone for that in particular, Lore awaited an explanation.

"I did," Irvine said with an apologetic smile. "I told him I'd stop being his best friend if he didn't go and that I wanted to take you out for dinner."

"Did it seem at all important that I ran to the stands to see him before hurrying to get changed?" Not truly angry with his uncle, the agitation in his voice was only mild. Tersely drinking a refill on his cappuccino, he let his actions speak louder.

"It seemed important in the sense that you have a major father complex, but not in the sense that I needed to talk to you about Squall getting laid," Irvine answered smoothly.

Nearly spitting his mouthful out, Lore managed to swallow most of it before coughing. "What?" he managed hoarsely, continuing to cough some more.

"I realize this isn't a very appropriate conversation topic, you being underage and Squall being your father. But given your unique relationship, I feel it's necessary." Removing his hat, Irvine tried to impress that while it might seem bazaar, he was entirely sincere.

Face slightly flushed from the coughing, Lore took a few moments to compose himself before responding. "I have friends you know. I realize that my relationship with Dad isn't exactly common. I've met other dads, and most of them are going bald and only manage to squeeze in a little quality time during the holidays, which is usually when most of my friends beg to come over to my house to get away."

Sighing with a fleeting look of longing, Irvine commented, "Some people just don't know how to appreciate what they have."

"Dad is everything to me," Lore declared with a straight face. "You can take away everything else in the world and it wouldn't matter so long as I had him."

Smiling at the sentiment, Irvine was happy to remember that despite his living in another country, his revered leader was still being loved dearly. "I knew Squall had found something for himself when he had you. You've been number one in his life from the moment he found a name for you."

Lore listened, slightly impassive. He didn't care to hear it all again when it wasn't coming from his father.

"Squall is someone who has always watched my back in battle, and even a few times in my love life, making sure I didn't go overboard with the ladies when I had Selphie to think about."

"And you repay him by feeding him to the wolves?" Lore quipped jokingly.

"I repay him by trying to ease an approaching transition," Irvine corrected. "Lore, you'll be graduating from high school in a couple years. You can't live with your dad all your life, he won't let you even if he'd prefer to not let go."

"I might enroll in Balamb Garden. We've talked about both moving back there if I wanted to become a mercenary."

"What about after that?" Irvine interjected with a frown. "Whether you go to a local college and live at home or become a cadet in the garden your dad works at, there will be a future that involves you only calling him on occasion and visiting infrequently."

Aghast at such a suggestion, Lore gave an incredulous look. "Like hell," he hissed defensively. "If you're tripping over Hanna and Terri, then that's your deal. Dad and I don't fit under the same umbrella as you guys."

"You say that now," Irvine interjected, hoping to sooth the offended boy with a calming tone of understanding. "But, when you're out on your own, with a job or kids, nightly dinners with your dad aren't an option."

"If I live in the same area it won't ever be a problem. I just wrote a paper on cultural norms, and the whole nuclear family thing is totally overrated. Independence isn't stunted by staying together."

Irvine leaned forward, only spurred to make his point clear. "Realistically speaking, you could live under the same roof for the rest of your life, but I guarantee your dad will still feel a sense of loss."

"Loss, what loss?" Lore questioned, slightly on edge with his emotions being stirred up so much. There was nothing to lose if they saw each other all the time.

"The loss of his son that used to climb into his lap like it was the most comfortable chair, even when there was company," Irvine gave as example. "The loss of his little boy that used to rely on him and need him for everything," he continued. "The loss of going to all your soccer matches and watching you run up and down the field, not even aware that he smiles every time you score a goal."

"Okay," Lore muttered, looking away, unable to see the emotion in his uncle's eyes. Obviously going through such a loss at the moment, he didn't think he could stand to imagine that his father's eyes might have the same subtle gleam of sadness.

"Your aunt used to never be able to find her cell phone when she needed it. She hates phones in general," Irvine said, spinning a story to make a bigger picture.

"I know. She says it's easier to just fly the ship to see people than stand around talking to a voice," Lore agreed, patiently waiting for the point to be made, wondering why he was the one receiving a lecture.

Loathing that he was the wise older man attempting to give some lecture, Irvine sacrificed his ego for Squall's sake. "Ever since Hanna and Terri moved out, she's mastered the art of text messaging and usually stuffs our house phone in her pocket with her cell phone."

Seeing where his uncle was going, Lore said, "That's because they never call. I won't do that."

Shaking his head, running a hand through long auburn locks, the gunman stated, "It's not a bad thing. The girls are busy with school and adjusting to a new way of life. They're growing and it's perfectly fine that they don't check in every day."

"That's one way things turn out, but it still has nothing to do with me and Dad," Lore concluded.

Sighing, Irvine said, "Maybe not, but I'm trying to give you an idea of how it works." Holding the attention of blue-green eyes, he set things back on track, "Even with Tyler, Selphie and I miss the girls. Every meal we eat that has two less servings, every day that goes by where we don't see them."

"Empty nest syndrome," Lore interjected in jest.

"Make fun of it all you want," Irvine said, smiling in turn with his nephew's amusement. "But that's exactly what it is, though I don't think that's the scientific term for it."

Lore glanced at his watch, shocked that it was already after nine o'clock. "Maybe we should go," he suggested, itching to get back home to be with his father.

"Trust me, this isn't a conversation for the road," Irvine turned down, well aware that it was taking a while to reach the heart of the matter. It would be useless if he couldn't impress the truth behind Squall needing someone else in life.

"Fine," Lore conceded, settling back down.

Smiling reassuringly, Irvine expressed his appreciation. It was a Monday, Lore had school the next day, and the boy was probably still worried about Squall seeing Seifer. Nonetheless, he was determined to hash it all out in a timely manner. "While every family is different, one thing is always the same."

"Empty nest syndrome," Lore supplied in answer.

"Yes, and I'm not loving that title," the gunman spoke with a smirk. "Now I've got your aunt and cousin with me without fail. Things are fine, and my little lady isn't the type of sad that involves tears."

Growing solemn, Irvine stared vacantly at the tabletop for a long moment, effectively drawing Lore's concern. "Squall has one thing going for him right now, and what do you think will happen when it sets in that you're all grown up?"

"Do we ever really finish growing up?" Lore countered.

"Think about it," Irvine chastised. "Really consider it for a moment. If you think for two seconds that your dad won't be affected, then you're wrong. He can't have only you in his life. It wouldn't be fair to him."

"What wouldn't be fair?"

"Disapproving of a suitor just because you don't want to share, isn't fair," Irvine clarified

Smiling at how his uncle had finally made it to point B, Lore rubbed his chin. "You mean Cale," he muttered, not thrilled that the gunman seemed to be suggesting his father actually consider Cale as a suitor.

"Cale, or any other person your dad shows an interest in," Irvine affirmed.

"What interest? He's the coach of a swim team and Dad swims all the time. It's only coincidence and Cale's constant attempts to hang out that make them friends."

"That's not what your dad told me," Irvine said, carefully gauging the boy's reaction.

Staring in momentary shock, Lore's eyes tried to find some flicker of dishonesty in the gunman's face. "What?" he spoke quietly, brows drawing together.

"Squall isn't going to date Cale because you don't approve, and he'll probably end up never seeing the guy again because he can't let someone torture themselves for him," Irvine explained.

"Torture? You mean constantly think about getting into my dad's pants and never being able to?" Lore muttered darkly.

"If you change 'pants' with 'heart', then yeah," the gunman drawled. "This man, who I will meet myself to judge before letting anything happen, is in love with your father. Squall told me about what happened Friday at Cale's apartment."

"What happened?" Lore questioned hurriedly, having all but dropped the topic for fear of ever having a repeat of the night he'd ignored his father.

"A man confessed his love, that's what happened. No one was injured and no one slipped anything into anyone's drink."

"He didn't do anything to Dad?" Lore questioned doubtfully.

Shrugging dismissively, Irvine informed, "They might have kissed a bit, but from the way Squall's cheeks went scarlet, I'd say it was consensual."

Blue-green eyes widened. "Are you being serious? I mean, can you swear that's what happened if you weren't there?"

"I can believe what your dad tells me, since he has no reason to lie and wouldn't even if he did." Irvine studied the dark haired youth carefully. "It's human nature to be with someone, whether you spend your life dating around or settle down and get married. Your dad is human and has some of the same wiring as the rest of us."

Sighing, Lore frowned. "I have no problem with my dad dating. It's Cale that I have the problem with."

Irvine shook his head. "No. You'd have a problem no matter who it is. You're redefining what you really feel and projecting where it doesn't belong."

"Hey, before you get all psychiatric on me, try witnessing the way he looks at Dad first."

Chuckling, Irvine made the obvious guess. "I imagine he looks at Squall's ass every chance he gets and drools all over himself when they swim together."

"You can joke about it, but that's how it is," Lore said. His hand twitched to grab his cell phone to call his dad and make sure things were okay.

"I wasn't joking darlin'," Irvine informed with a sympathetic look. "If Cale were gonna do something so terribly insidious, he'd have done it already. If not that night in the apartment, then some time when they were changing in a locker room."

"Gaining a person's trust takes time," Lore countered.

"A year?" Irvine spoke in disbelief. "It doesn't take a whole year to get gain Squall's trust. Your father knew me for about four hours before looking into my eyes with the unwavering belief that I wouldn't miss a target. He trusted me so much that I actually believed it myself."

"Then Cale must be deranged, just playing a game."

"The only game that man is playing is 'look but don't touch'. I'm telling you as someone who cares just as much about Squall as you do-"

"You can't care as much about him as I do," Lore cut in heatedly. "I'm his son. I exist because he brought me into this world. It's not the same as growing up together and being friends, it's more than that."

Irvine waited a moment. Frustrated that he'd never be able to justly relate how war affected comrades, he settled for at least trying to. "It wasn't my childhood with Squall that brought us close. He was my leader. Every day, I followed him into battle and carried out his orders with any hesitation. He never let anything bad happen to any of us. Everyone who has ever known him is bound to him, not just his son or close friends."

"That seems a little twisted," Lore commented, having always disliked the fame that surrounded his father's name. Fame aside, his dad turned heads just by walking down the street.

"It's not normal if that's what you mean, but I think you know first hand just how many heads he turns."

Lore scowled, the words he heard taken right from his thoughts. "It's the number of head turning that makes me worry so much. For all we know, Cale became Grandpa's secretary just to meet Dad.

Irvine laughed. "Hyne you're paranoid."

"I'm just cautious," Lore defended, throwing his uncle an insulted glare. "No one ever thinks the screwed up crap can happen to them, and then it does."

"Well I think you've avoided the jinx," Irvine assured with a smirk. "Let Squall date Cale if that's what he wants."

"No way," the youth turned down flat.

"Share your damn father Lore or I'll start making opportunities for him to be alone with this person." Irvine hardly wanted to contend with his nephew of all people, but there were certain steps he'd take to at least make sure Squall had the freedom to find someone.

"It doesn't matter. Dad won't see him if I ask him not to," Lore shot back.

Giving the sixteen year old a look of disappointment, Irvine didn't reply right away. He let Lore's words set in long enough that the boy would likely repeat them mentally. "You're right, he'd do anything you asked him to, even if he ends up never falling in love with anyone."

Lore frowned, not having meant it like that exactly.

"I just thought you wouldn't abuse the hold you have over him for such a selfish reason, but I guess I thought wrong." Slowly, Irvine reached out to pick his hat up. Methodically placing it on his head, it was like a signal that they had nothing left to discuss.

"Uncle Irvine," Lore said in protest. "It's not like that. If Dad were interested in someone, I'd totally support him."

Irvine leveled the boy with stern gaze. "We both know the order Squall will go in. He won't have any interest in someone without your support first. He's trapped in a Catch-22."

"You're basing that on the assumption that once I graduate, I'll leave the country and never speak to Dad again. I've already told you that I have no intention of doing something in life that would separate us."

Downing the dregs of cold green tea, cringing at the condensed flavor, Irvine set his cup down with a chink. If he didn't have to drink at least three cups of the tea a day, then Selphie harped at him, and she could tell if he had by looking into his eyes. "We can argue more in the car," he said, reaching into his pants for his wallet.

Frowning, Lore instinctively reached for his coat, quickly remembering it was being put to better use. Sighing, he slid out of the booth and waited for his uncle.

Hardly willing to part with bitter words, Irvine slung an arm around his nephew's shoulders as they exited the café. "You know I love you, right?"

Groaning an unintelligible reply, Lore sulked over the whole matter. Usually agreeable on matters, he would clash heads with anyone if it involved his dad.

"I suggest we visit this suitor and ask him directly what his intentions are," Irvine said before they got in the car.

Glancing over the roof of his car, holding the driver's side door open, Lore stared perplexed. The gunman acted as though he'd already agreed to give Cale a chance, which he absolutely had not. "I think men aren't a good fit for Dad and we should discuss the possibility of finding a nice woman for him instead."

Irvine just laughed. Shaking his head and muttering to himself, he removed his hat and got in the car. Still laughing by the time Lore followed suit, he had to explain himself. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "That was a good one."

"It's not funny," Lore commented, starting the car.

"Darlin'," Irvine placated. "There's just no way you can go around choosing your daddy's callers. Whether he has a gentleman or a lady coming on to him, I highly doubt someone as instinctive as your father is going to be concerned about in door or out door plumbing."

"Huh?" Lore intoned in confusion, not certain he'd understand even if he'd been giving the gunman his undivided attention. Pulling out, he was somewhat distracted with trying to drive, which wasn't quite second nature yet.

Laughter tapering off, Irvine explained, "Squall is the definition of bisexual. He associates only with people he can stand to be around. If he has interest in a person, it isn't because they're male or female or beautiful or rich or even interesting. He's an anomaly, and I promise you that you'd spend your entire life trying to set him up with all sorts of women, but none of them would be right." Having already counseled Squall through the embarrassment of his son bluntly questioning his sexuality, Irvine knew such a topic was not off limits with Lore.

"So you're saying that Cale is right for him?" Lore questioned.

"He's shown interest in Cale, which could mean it's a good match. Either way, it'd be good experience. Squall hasn't dated anyone since Rinoa, and she was his first girlfriend."

"That's not true," Lore disagreed. After a moment, he doubted himself. "Is it?"

"You know less about him than you think," Irvine informed. "Now where does this guy live?"

Biting his lip in indecision, Lore turned the proper signal on before veering to the left and changing lanes at the last second. "He's about ten minutes from here," he said. "And I'm not agreeing to anything."

TBC…

A/N: Well, I'm told dialogue is the strong point in my writing, though it really wasn't my intention to make a whole chapter out of it. Anyway, I hope you liked it. If you hadn't noticed already, things are definitely moving slowly, and I fully intend to take the painstaking time to develop it all. Squall won't be jumping into bed with anyone, but he'll have sex eventually. The reviews so far have been awesome and so encouraging, thank you all.

If there were any discrepancies, which amounted to many when I proof read it, feel free to call me on them. I don't know how many times I rewrote certain parts, making other parts not fit.


	14. Chapter 14

Defining Love

Chapter Fourteen

Seifer gazed at the sleeping lion for a long moment. He wasn't entirely certain Leonhart was truly asleep until he received no response from his shaking. Was it normal for a trained fighter to suddenly fall asleep so openly and deeply? Should he feel insulted that he'd been talking right before it happened?

Green eyes studied closed lids, eyeing the dark fringe of lashes that were too feminine for any normal man. Ever since Leonhart had hit puberty, the lack of masculine definition to the boy's body and face had always agitated him. It was one thing if a woman could pose a challenge, but another for a sissy looking man. He felt like the pretty boy's general androgyny undermined his own status. It was worse now that there was no icy gaze attached to the image, just a relaxed expression that seemed impossibly innocent.

He was rather tired himself, but his ass was frozen and the ground was too hard. Maybe that was the true nature of the war hero, being able to rest on the most uncomfortable terrain as though it were a bed of clouds.

Bidding his time silently, somehow fascinated just by staring at the sleeping brunet, Seifer debated what to do. The schoolyard bully inside of him told him to find the nearest foghorn and scare the shit out of the unsuspecting fighter. It would be good for a laugh and a lifetime of taunting.

He would have abandoned the younger man there without a ride for an hour or two if he weren't so unsure as to whether or not Leonhart would continue sleeping until turned into a frozen corpse. "You're taking the fun out of this," he complained quietly, suddenly struck by how fragile looking the former commander appeared.

Ten years ago that he'd cast a perhaps too hasty judgment on his rival, declaring the man soft. Recent spars proved that there remained unparalleled strength in that lithe body and mastery in such skillful wielding of a gunblade, but there still seemed something different about Squally-boy, something he wasn't able to place.

"You have changed," he mumbled, resting his head in his hand while he continued to stare unabashed.

Amusing himself with the simplest of cheap thrills, he moved closer and dangled the end of the bunging string to his coat's hood so that it ghosted Leonhart's face. The scrunching of eyes and quiet sigh of protest was enough to for the ex-knight to laugh outright, forcing him to stifle the noise. There was something entirely enthralling about teasing Leonhart, there always had been.

Sobering abruptly, Seifer listened intently to what he thought was the brunet talking, but might as well have been an exhaling breath for all he'd heard. When bowed lips moved ever so slightly, he leaned closer out of curiosity. What would the silent ice prince have to say when unconscious?

Inwardly scoffing at the proximity he managed to achieve without Leonhart waking up, Seifer affirmed his conclusions concerning why one person needed so many bodyguards. Nudging a shoulder through the various layers of clothing, he prompted more speaking.

"Lore," Squall mumbled, nearly inaudible. "Sleep in your own bed, cub."

An inexplicable shiver ran through Seifer's body, something he could only attribute to the cold. Turning his head, he stared in disbelief. There was suddenly no humor in the situation. Despite the many compromising positions they'd wound up in, tumbling around on the ground, the fact that his lips could be touching Leonhart's with the barest distance of a couple inches seemed to scream something of a sexual nature.

Before Seifer could draw back and angrily kick the brunet awake, his lips were upon a pale cheek. Lingering as long as his slow processing brain would allow, Seifer registered soft skin that was surprisingly warm after being exposed to the brisk air. When his brain finally caught up, he promptly tore away, almost scuttling back along the ground. Gaze narrowed in alarm and accusation, certain it was somehow Leonhart's fault, he held his breath while observing whether the brunet was still asleep.

"That didn't just happen," he muttered to himself.

Running a hand through disheveled blond hair, Seifer calmed a bit and collected himself. He'd play it cool until he was alone and warm again, able to think properly. Until then, his unexpressed anger and distorted feelings of shock and alarm would be vented on the sleeping beauty.

Kicking the brunet's shin harshly, Seifer ordered, "Get up!"

---

"Howdy," Irvine drawled, laying his Galbadian accent on heavily. Tipping his hat customarily, he didn't bother for any invitation before stepping inside Cale Bernhein's apartment.

"Hey," Lore mimicked, his tone far less amicable under the imposing circumstances. Following his uncle into the apartment, he made certain Cale saw his scowling face.

"Won't you come in," Cale invited sarcastically, closing the door behind his two uninvited guests. He had a decent idea what it was about. Squall's son had never liked him, which meant an immediate veto on any attempt for a relationship with the former commander.

"This isn't what you think," Irvine assured, violet eyes reading the tall man's assuming demeanor. It was just a guess, but he'd say Lore hadn't been too discreet about not liking the guy in the past.

"Did you touch my dad?" Lore asked lowly, the threat of castration implied if the answer weren't to his liking.

"Okay, so some of this _is_ what you think," Irvine corrected, sending his nephew a reprimanding look. Threatening the man was no way to find out the truth, at least not in their current situation.

Cale chose for that single meeting to let Lore know what was no one's business but his own and Squall's. "I did touch him," he affirmed, crimson eyes staring into blue-green. He hadn't set out to do anything with Squall, but their first real kiss had been entirely consensual.

Going a step further, Cale raised an arm and pointed to the couch visible behind the boy. Waiting for Lore to look, he explained, "It was on that couch. I told him I loved him, because I do, and then I kissed him. Nothing more or less." He wondered if that much detail were sufficient or if he should start depicting which lights were on, how close they'd been, where his hands had migrated, and so on.

Lore whipped back, glaring harshly. "Is that a joke?" he hissed angrily, shrugging his uncle's hand off when it grasped his shoulder in a steadying manner.

Shaking his head, Cale explained, "If you came here under the impression that I would hide this from you, then you were mistaken. My intentions Friday were to be honest with Squall and continue being friends, but when I kissed him, he didn't seem to mind." There was only so much he could as far as accusations of sexual assault went.

Irvine smirked at this, spirited to hear that much when Squall hadn't painted any scene beyond the setting and cast. It was less difficult to imagine his beloved commander in the arms of another man when faced with the six-foot, five-inch, broad framed suitor. Eyeing the man up and down, he nodded in approval.

Mouth agape in shock, Lore tried to fathom such an exchange. His mind was incapable of picturing any scene that didn't involve his father being violated. Catching his uncle's movements out of the corner of his eye, he elbowed the auburn haired man in the side. "Don't look so smug," he muttered, knowing he was now contending with the gunman to keep his father away from the professor's lecherous clutches.

Laughing outright, Irvine kindly informed, "This ain't smug darlin'. I'd be smug if Squall had slept with him." Nodding once more in approval, he turned and strode farther into the apartment.

Lore gave his uncle an incredulous stare, delayed in realizing it was pointless to give the look to the older man's backside. "You said you'd forgo casting judgment until you actual met the guy," the young man reminded in protest.

Sighing, still in place by the door, Cale ran a hand through slightly spiky hair. In the middle of grading midterm papers, the action had been habitual the entire day. "For the record, I'm still standing right here," he announced to the pair. "In my own apartment," he added.

Irvine smiled, delighted at the prospects of Squall hooking up with this man. The only trouble was Lore's continued opposition. He couldn't blame the boy. He for one had encouraged such behavior. He'd only been half joking when telling the impressionable ten year old that with him and Selphie being in Trabia, it was the boy's job to keep an eye on Squall. It was turning out to be a double edged sword.

Running a hand along the back of the tan suede couch, the color nearly matching his long duster, Irvine pointedly circled around before taking a seat. Settling in comfortably, he removed his hat and reclined his head. "We're just here to talk with you, partner," he drawled. "I'm sure you know that Squall isn't going to be accepting anyone's affections until my stubborn nephew says it's okay."

"Nephew?" Cale questioned, glancing to the dark haired youth for confirmation.

"I'm Uncle Irvine," the gunman introduced. "I'm Squall's closest confidant, and he has confided some very interesting things lately."

Cale now knew the man to be Irvine Kinneas, the sharpshooter that had been under Squall's command during the war. The cowboy hat should have given it away. "Interesting? As in my very personal, very private confession?" he questioned rhetorically. It was slightly embarrassing for him at the moment, though the casual attitude that the cool handed sharpshooter carried was making it difficult to protest.

"That'd be the main point of interest," Irvine returned, craning his head back and smirking.

Lore strode in, brushing past the tall professor. He managed to take a seat as rudely as his uncle had done so smoothly. Arms crossed, he sat rigidly, obviously not at ease in the least.

"Can I offer anyone a drink?" Cale asked in mock hospitality. He wouldn't admit it aloud, but he harbored a bit of resentment towards Lore at the moment, and it wasn't for the general lack of amiable airs. The boy had made a rather untimely call to Squall the previous Friday, cutting short one of the best moments of his life, not to mention driving the skittish mercenary from his apartment with a look of overwhelming guilt marring beautiful features.

Violet-blue eyes watched avidly as the white haired man walked to the other end of the main room and took a seat at a cluttered desk. "I keep forgetting that you're not Laguna's secretary anymore," he commented, noticing the red pens and stack of papers that were indicative of a teacher correcting the students' work.

Finally realizing what the intrusion was all about, Cale closed his laptop and moved it out of the way. Leaning forward on the cleared space, propped on his forearms, he asked, "What do you want to know?"

"You're quick," Irvine said, happy to carry out his interview. Shifting around, he angled himself to best regard his main object of interest. "What do you do for a living?"

Cale took a moment to gather the patience. It wasn't exactly a prime time for an interrogation. He had countless papers to get through by the end of the week without the aid of his teacher's assistant, an early lecture the next day, and one of his best swimmers wasn't fit for action for another month. Calm and collected, he answered, "I teach political science at Orion University."

"Was that why you worked for Laguna?" Irvine followed up, still stuck on forming a fitting image of Cale sitting outside Laguna's office and clacking away at some keyboard while answering phone calls. The state of strewn work currently on the man's desk was helping with that mental picture though.

Nodding, Cale admitted, "It was an honor to work for President Loire, but I had no profound intentions of making a difference by becoming involved in the system." He studied politics and economics purely out of analytical interest. The stint as a secretary had been an attempt at a first hand study. "I would have run for governor if I hadn't planned on accepting the open offer to teach at Orion," Cale elaborated.

Lore sat with his arms crossed, sulking while trying to think of just the right question that would ruin any possible approval.

"He seems like a real bastard," Irvine mumbled dryly to his nephew, nudging the boy's leg with the heel of his boot. Pausing a moment, endeared by the patient look of expectancy in strikingly red eyes, the gunman pondered his order of questioning. "Any hobbies or sports?" he continued, trying not to give away that he'd already made up his mind.

Deep down inside, Cale's hopes were soaring. He didn't know what had gone on since his last meeting with Squall, but to have Lore in his apartment while being civilly interrogated meant that there was some serious consideration going on. "I coach a swim team. I used to swim in college and Orion's coach retired right before I arrived."

"Sweet Hyne," Irvine declared, looking aghast at the brooding boy beside him. "How did you ever let your father go near such a terrible man?"

"Your sarcasm is not appreciated," Lore bit out, kicking his uncle's leg. "Even if my dad kissed you back, that doesn't make it okay," he stated, glaring at the white haired man. Perhaps his greatest problem at the moment was the unsettling thought that his father had indeed consented to the act. He was recalling images of the smaller man standing in the kitchen, almost shyly reluctant to speak on the matter. Considering the former commander never did anything that would later be regretted, he was almost ashamed to not have noticed the true emotions underlying such a tense and cloistered demeanor on that morning.

Lore was becoming increasingly certain that his father had not been embarrassed to tell him the truth, but afraid. Shaking his head as his thoughts drifted from the situation at hand to the previous Saturday morning, he felt guilty. What he couldn't determine was whether his father had been afraid because he might ignore the man again or because he wouldn't approve of Cale.

Irvine took Lore's sudden contemplating expression as a good sign. Continuing his line of questioning, he asked, "Are you gay?"

Crimson eyes seemed to laugh. "Whatever gave you that idea?" he returned.

Happy to explain despite the rhetorical sense of the professor's words, Irvine assured, "It wasn't your infatuation with Squall."

Brows rising, Cale became intrigued by the reasons that were not obvious.

"I've been known as a pretty boy myself," Irvine drawled with no sense of modesty. "When I first laid eyes on Squall, any title I ever held in that department was immediately handed over."

"He's beautiful," Cale posed as proper description.

"You don't get to say that," Lore cut in.

"He is beautiful," Irvine stated in Cale's place. "And for that reason, a man falling in love with him doesn't constitute homosexuality, just a whole lot of insecurities."

Rolling his eyes, Lore muttered, "I have serious objections to talking about how hot my own father is."

Chuckling, Irvine clapped a hand on the boy's shoulder. "It's a blessing," he soothed. "You've got his genes."

"Don't go there," Lore warned.

Stopping short of pinching the dark haired youth's cheek and stating what a lady killer the boy was growing up to be, Irvine returned his focus. "I believe I was talking about why I think you're gay," he said, looking back at Cale.

"Which I am," Cale admitted honestly.

"How old are you?" Irvine inquired.

Failing to see the relevance, Cale still answered, "Thirty-two."

Whistling, Irvine grinned. "A handsome, successful, and physically active thirty-two year old man living as a bachelor is suspicious. And no one spends the time it takes to befriend the commander without being interested in what's below the belt."

Lips upturning an a half smile, Cale quipped, "I'll add handsome to my resume, Mr. Kinneas."

"Irvine is fine," the gunman corrected, wondering if such an upfront person could be affected by much of anything. "I'm glad you know of me."

"A great many people know of you by reputation," Cale replied. Anyone who knew a little about the war seventeen years ago knew of the legendary six. "Squall's also spoken of you," he added.

Laughing, Irvine shook his head. "Hyne, you're whipped," he managed to say.

"Is that what this is?" the professor queried, shifting to lean back and sit straight. Entirely amused by the bazaar attitude the sharpshooter seemed to have, he was content to play along. "I can't say I mind it."

Studying the man for a long moment, Irvine finally remembered the origin of such unique features as white hair and red eyes. Esthar was a long way from home. "I like you," he informed.

Shaking his head, Cale refuted, "I don't think I ever really needed to convince you."

"Oh?" the gunman intoned curiously.

"Your mind was made up long before you came here," the professor said. Giving the gunman a slightly reproachful gaze, he added, "Far be it from me to give advice, but I can't say I'd appreciate you advising Squall to be involved with someone you don't know."

Interest peeked, Lore subtly glanced at the white haired suitor. Listening intently, he silently cursed that he wholly agreed with the man.

"Please explain," Irvine requested, knowing exactly what the man meant but unable to get over how similar Lore and Cale were in their shared concern for Squall.

Taking a moment to collect the right words, Cale said clearly, "Squall isn't the type of person to go around having flings. Anything less than everything isn't good enough, and it'd take that much to keep him happy."

"Are you saying Dad's difficult?" Lore bit out defensively, more agitated that he agreed than that he was insulted on his father's behalf.

Cale gave the young man a wry gaze. "You're missing my point."

"Yes, your father is difficult," Irvine said in answer to Lore. "But this is the man who can handle him."

"Handle what?" Lore protested. "There's nothing to handle."

"It's this guy or I start setting him up with every pretty face that wants casual sex from the famous Balamb lion," Irvine threatened, only half serious.

"Don't be rash," Cale asserted with subdued alarm.

"Like hell," Lore objected at the same time.

The two statements were almost indecipherable after overlapping each other, the tone in both their voices explaining what words might have failed to do.

Tired of the continued argument against hooking Squall up with someone, Irvine complained with exasperation to his nephew, "Then will you accept this guy?"

Scoffing, Lore muttered, "Why don't you just set him up with Seifer?"

"Because Seifer would make a game out of using your father for sex," Irvine countered.

Frowning, Lore informed, "I wasn't being serious."

"I know," the gunman returned sardonically.

Interrupting the small squabble, Cale requested, "Can we please agree not to prostitute Squall out in any case?"

"'Prostitute' is such a strong word," Irvine said with distain.

Standing abruptly, Lore announced, "I'm going home. Why the hell should I accept anyone if Dad doesn't even like them?"

"You don't know how your dad feels," Irvine argued.

"Which is why I want to go home," Lore returned logically. "I need to talk with Dad before doing stuff like this."

Nodding, Irvine hefted forward with an unnecessary groan. "I'll agree to leave only because you make a valid point." There was also the small factor of having promised to be back in Trabia an hour ago. Placing his hat on his head, he turned to the professor said, "Squall doesn't come to me unless he's real hung up on something. In this case, it's someone."

Cale smiled despite himself. Taking a moment to rein the almost giddy emotions that coursed through him at the mere mention of Squall possibly liking him, he eventually settled down and composed himself. "I don't want to pressure him into anything," he said, tactfully requesting that the gunman not push Squall into anything. "The most I ever wanted was his friendship."

"Friends don't kiss," Lore mumbled from his distant place closer to the doorway.

"Squall can't be pressured into anything," Irvine assured, tipping his hat in parting before striding towards the doorway as well. "Thank you for your time."

---

Sighing a note of relief when he finally arrived back home, Lore let the warmth wash over him. It was too late to consider another drawn out conversation, which meant saving further discussion of his father's love life for the next day.

It was after eleven, the time seeming to speed towards midnight. Lore was only mildly surprised that the lights were off in the apartment. It wasn't odd that his father would have gone to bed already, since the man seemed incapable of staying up late, something counter balanced by never waking up later than six in the morning.

Asleep or not, Lore was compelled to at least have a few words. Knocking gently on the door directly across the hall from his own room, he quietly entered. Inside it was too dark to see much, but the soft glow of the light from the living room filtered enough to eventually make out the empty bed in the middle of his father's bedroom.

Uncertain for a moment, Lore was reluctant to conclude that he'd arrived home first. A quick run of the place validated that he was alone. He hastily sought the aid of his cell phone.

Surprised once again, he cursed when realizing his phone had been off. Why the hell was his phone off? What if his father had been trying to call him all night? Without hesitation, he called his father's cell. Disheartened with the continual failure for anyone to pick up, Lore feared the worst. Something had happened during the spar, or the ex-knight hadn't been lying about trying to sleep with his dad.

It wasn't until his hundredth time pressing speed dial that he thought to check his own phone for messages. With one new message in his mailbox, blue-green eyes narrowed as they read the sender's name.

Sitting down on the living room couch, Lore stared at the small screen with unease. "Almasy," he read aloud, the name still foreign on his tongue, it made more awkward by the fact that it was the name of his other father.

Phone to his ear, he played the message. 'Lore,' came his dad's voice. 'I'm running later than I thought. It's a quarter after eleven. I'll be home- stop it….' The beeping of random buttons was greatly disturbing.

There was a brief pause before indecipherable background noise muffled the sound of laughter. 'Shit, you made me drop it,' the baritone voice of the ex-knight sounded distantly.

'Wrong lane,' came the barely audible voice of his father. 'Where's the phone?'

'Aw, can't our son go to bed without his mommy singing him a lullaby?' the ex-knight teased. 'Ow!' the man intoned, any indication of pain dismissed when he proceeded to laugh. 'If you get pissy so quickly, I won't know which part made you mad.'

'The phone,' his father demanded.

'It's my phone,' the ex-knight complained.

'You broke mine,' came the indifferent reply.

With more laughter than a broken phone could possibly constitute, the ex-knight seemed to stall in answering. 'It fell between my legs. You'll have to get it.'

"You did that on purpose," Lore accused heatedly, forgetting that it was a message.

"Did what?" Squall questioned, door closing behind as he entered the apartment.

Lore nearly answered before realizing his father's voice hadn't come from the phone. Flipping the device shut as though his hand were caught in the cookie jar, he turned to find the lithe fighter hanging the first of two coats up in the small closet in the entryway.

"You're back," the young man said with relief, quickly standing and making his way closer.

"Sorry I didn't call," the brunet said. Stowing his son's coat away, he proceeded to unzip his bomber jacket. "I tried leaving a message, but I was almost home anyway." In the middle of removing his favored jacket, the sudden hug from the dark haired youth was an unexpected greeting that affirmed his fear of having worried the boy.

While Lore could have informed his father that a message had indeed been left, he felt it would incur a long interrogation about whether the fallen phone had been retrieved or not. "Why'd you leave after my game?" he asked, not relenting his hold.

"Your uncle asked me to," Squall explained. "He wanted to take you out for dinner alone, and Seifer asked for my help with something."

"Are you tired?" Lore questioned, hanging on for a few moments longer before pulling back.

Slipping out of his jacket, Squall answered, "Yes."

Something seeming out of place, Lore studied his father for a moment. Frowning, he questioned, "Where's your blade?"

"Seifer has it," Squall replied, closing the closet door.

Mood darkening, Lore began to wonder if he could possibly sleep with so many unasked questions in his head. "Why does he have your blade? You never let anyone touch your blades."

Shrugging impassively, Squall explained, "It's nicked. He's taking it to be fixed for me."

"How admirable," Lore muttered sarcastically.

Studying his son's brooding features, Squall inquired, "Is everything okay?"

Jaw clenching in an attempt not to speak, Lore eventually caved and blurted out, "Irvine and I went to see Cale."

Stormy blue eyes widened. Lips parting to comment, Squall remained silent. Now he knew why Irvine had shown up. What were things coming to when he couldn't even trust the gunman to take Lore out for dinner without trouble?

"I still don't like him," Lore asserted, finding it impossible to save his words for a better time. "But, if you actually want to…" he trailed off, unable to say it without steeling himself first. "If you want to date him, I won't object." Sour about the whole idea, he added on resentfully, "It'd be better than Uncle Irvine sending call girls over here twenty-four seven."

Shoulders sagging, Squall brought a hand to his face in slight exasperation. "You know I wouldn't allow that," he said.

Glancing dolefully at his father, Lore asked, "Do you like Cale?"

"Your lack of objection is hardly approval," Squall answered evasively.

"There are worse men than Cale," Lore went on to say, not entirely certain the ex-knight's taunting was full of empty threats.

Frowning, Squall attempted to figure how the world had turned upside down in the course of a single day. "What exactly did your uncle say to you?"

Smiling wryly, Lore assured, "We don't have to talk about it now."

Offering a patient smile of appeasement, Squall said, "But you'd like to."

Shrugging indecisively, not wanting to outright ask but also knowing he probably wouldn't sleep with so much uncertainty running rampant, Lore relied on his father's infallible ability to know what he wanted. "It's late," he muttered, offering the morning glory a way out of losing another hour of sleep.

"It's not that late," Squall assured, jaw tightening as he stifled a yawn. Sighing and half yawning at once, he suggested, "I'll make coffee."

Before his father moved out of reach, Lore intervened with a hand on the man's arm. "Is it really okay? I mean, is it too personal?"

Turning to his son with disbelief in his eyes, Squall reminded, "You're my son."

"I don't want you to be lonely," Lore responded, echoing guilt from his earlier conversation in the diner forcing him to address what he'd originally dismissed.

Ruffling raven stands of short hair, Squall reassured, "There are too many people in the world for anyone to feel alone."

As consoling as his father thought those words might have been, Lore felt his last standing leg fold. Blue-green eyes watched as the lithe figure disappeared into the kitchen. Already wired with concern, he wasn't sure coffee was the best idea.

---

Seifer paced the empty bedroom of his new apartment. Boxes still unpacked, he'd spent an hour brooding frantically over his actions that night. Nearly going into cardiac arrest when he'd realized what he'd done, he was in much the same state after playing it cool in front of Leonhart.

He'd kissed Leonhart.

A tiny peck at most, he'd leaned over the brunet's sleeping form and kissed a pale cheek before able to process his actions. It was by Hyne's grace that the pretty boy hadn't woken up.

"It's Kinneas," he grumbled to himself, only his unmade bed, some unpacked boxes, and an empty dresser within earshot. The fucking cowboy went around dishing out kisses like it was some damn cure for death.

Kicking a nearby box, he sent the innocent container flying. His frustration was hardly abated, but he knew there was nothing he could do to retract what he'd done. "That hell island asshole too," he added darkly. The timeless fall back excuse for doing something was that everyone else had been doing it too.

It was childish and ridiculous, but Seifer honestly couldn't think of any better reasoning for his actions. He'd seen all those other men doing it, and he'd never been one to be left out.

"That's fucking demented," he complained with an accompanying groan, well aware he didn't have a leg to stand on when arguing that what he'd done was perfectly acceptable.

Wanting to call Raijin and try to get an outside opinion, he eventually settled on never telling another living soul. Ignoring it altogether seemed like a fantastic solution. Leonhart obviously didn't suspect a thing. Though the ride back had been full of icy glares from the former commander, there hadn't been more pernicious intent in the air than usual.

His biggest concern was the real reason for his actions. Had it been to taunt Squally-boy for the oblivious and unguarded act of falling asleep? Had he simply done it to see what it was like? It wasn't as though he'd been pining away in bed at nights with jealously over how other people had done it, so it didn't seem likely that he'd do it to be included.

Kicking at another box, something breaking within, Seifer continued to pace and brood darkly. While ignoring that it ever happened was an easy solution, that wouldn't stop him from knowing about it or needing to know why he'd done it.

It had been a rather exciting day for him. Perhaps he'd just been a little overly excited after sparring and finding the right location for his new business venture. People did shit like that all the time. Fighting could be considered intoxicating, and if he were liquored up enough he'd kiss just about anybody with a pretty face.

In the morning he would visit Leonhart bright and early, and it would be as though nothing happened.

TBC…

Author's note: Holy hell it's been forever and a day since I last updated. I failed miserably in trying to force out 50,000 words. As it stands, I'm at 20,000 and hoping to get at least half way there before the first of December. I suppose constantly going back and rewriting chapters wasn't helping in the race to produce quantity over quality.

For the long wait, it wasn't a very smexy or riveting chapter, but goodness knows it's a very big turn of events in this storyline to have Squall liking anyone and to have Seifer liking Squall. The quality Seifer/Squall time everyone has been anticipating more of will be in the next chapter.

Thank you all for the great reviews and being so patient.


	15. Chapter 15

Defining Love

Chapter Fifteen

Monday morning in the Leonhart residence began at eight o'clock, exactly thirty minutes before Lore's first period class started. In a rush to shower and dress, the sophomore high school student stumbled about in a half sleeping daze to get ready.

"Dad, have you seen my keys?" the young man called from inside his bedroom.

In the kitchen, Squall dried his hands with a dish towel while contemplating the most likely place of his son's keys. "Check your pants from yesterday," he suggested, not certain he'd spoken loud enough to be heard. Generally a very quiet speaker when he actually said something, his headache made sure he didn't go above a certain level.

There was a long moment of silence before Lore responded, "Thanks, I found them."

Setting a small plate on the kitchen table, Squall's task of fixing Lore's breakfast was pretty much over only a few minutes after it had begun. A couple slices of toast were hardly a hardy meal, but it could be eaten on the go and didn't take long to prepare.

About to fix himself a cup of coffee, familiar knocking at the door drew Squall away. With his face already a mask of cool indifference, he stalked to out of the kitchen and across the main flat of the apartment. Wrenching the door open, his eyes rose to glare at the blond ex-knight.

Standing in a pair of casual black slacks and muscle contouring green sweater, Seifer barely managed to contain himself at the unwelcome greeting. There was something inexplicably amusing in everything Leonhart did, even opening the door with an icy glare in place. "Come now Leonhart, let's let bygones be bygones."

Crossing his arms and shifting to lean to the side a bit, Squall gazed wryly. "You can buy me a new phone today," he said flatly in greeting.

"Is this about breaking your phone? Or is it about what happened in the car?" Seifer asked innocently. "I dropped my phone on accident."

"…" Grey-blue eyes simply stared, bowed lips neither smiling nor frowning.

"Are you gonna invite me in or not?" the blond questioned, having already taken his coat off, just in case his arrogant demeanor didn't relay the message that he would be entering invited or not.

Quirking a brow, Squall commented, "I doubt I have a choice." Turning around, he walked away from the open door.

Grinning broadly, Seifer stepped into the apartment. "Are those the same clothes you wore yesterday?" he queried, his tone seeming to imply something lewd.

"Long night," Squall muttered in excuse.

"Dad, what time is it?" Lore's voice called out.

"Learn to read a clock!" Seifer shouted back, happily anticipating the adverse reaction the kid would he showing any second.

Looking heavenward, Squall prayed for patience. "Seifer, this morning is the worst possible time to be pushing Lore around." Glancing back, he shot the ex-knight a reproachful gaze. "Please," he said, requesting civility instead of choosing to ignore the taunting.

Frowning, Seifer stopped in his tracks. "I'll be a good boy if I get a cookie," he offered jokingly.

"…" Squall sighed.

Rushing out into the living room, shirttail hanging out of his black slacks and tie hanging undone around an unbuttoned collar, Lore gazed balefully at the ex-knight. "What are you doing here?" he hissed.

Eyes lighting up, Seifer prepared to answer, but hesitated right before his sharp tongue could form a reply. Sighing, shoulders slouching dramatically, the blond answered, "Cell phone shopping."

Tucking his shirt in, the dark haired youth approached his father. "I think I should take the train," he said, flawlessly ignoring the presence of the ex-knight.

"It's after eight, you'd have to transfer at the junction," Squall pointed out, setting to work on fixing his son's collar.

Shirt tucked in neatly, Lore stood still while his dad did his tie, something he found impossible to do correctly. "All the parking spots are gone by now. It'll take twice as long to find a spot and walk from it than it would transferring trains."

Shaking his head, Squall assured, "I'll drive you."

"No, it's fine," Lore returned. "Even if I'm late, it's only study hall."

Eye twitching in annoyance, Seifer grew greatly annoyed over the apparent disregard for his entire existence. "If it's study hall, just skip it," he suggested, demanding to be let in on the conversation.

Lore cast a heated glare over his shoulder, incidentally messing his father up. "No one asked you," he muttered darkly.

Glaring right back, Seifer quipped, "Does being a kiss ass in school go hand in hand with being a mama's boy?"

Turning straight at the tugging demand of his father, Lore shot back, "Does failing to beat my dad in every respect go hand in hand with stalking him like you have nothing better to do?"

"Ouch kid, I'm real hurt," Seifer commented. "I'll be sure to have your mom console me while you're at school." He could have pointed out that he hadn't shown up randomly at the boy's hotel under the pretense of hashing out the whole familial connection between them. He might have shown up to see Leonhart that morning, but he hadn't initiated the reunion.

Gritting his teeth, Lore refrained from lashing out. He calmed a bit when glancing into cool blue eyes. Though remembering to keep a level head, he was unable to let the comment go completely. "You can drool all you want, but that just makes you like every other perverted old man out there."

Green eyes narrowed. "Just because you graduated from diapers recently, doesn't make me old." Seifer said defensively, wondering where the kid learned to attack a person's sore spot. It certainly hadn't been something Squally-boy ever did. It was his specialty, and he wasn't about to share.

Scoffing, Lore muttered, "Could have fooled me."

Squall wasn't sure if his amusement was appropriate at the moment, but he almost laughed at how ridiculous the two sounded. It was a bit disconcerting to see a whole other side of his son come out when Seifer was around, both seeming to share the same stubborn quality of needing to have the last word.

Bringing the knot up to the youth's collar, Squall said quietly, "Technically, Seifer's only twenty-seven."

There was silent confusion in the air before both Seifer and Lore intoned, "Huh?"

Finished with Lore's tie, Squall stepped back. Obviously surprised at the synced response, he clarified, "Mentally."

Lore took a moment to process the meaning behind his father's seemingly random words. When it finally struck him, he laughed.

Seifer glared. "I gotta take lip from both of you?" he complained.

Brows drawing together, Squall gave the ex-knight a look of innocent confusion. "What lip?" he questioned. It was just a fact. Seifer had lost seven years, even if his body had aged. It had seemed like a relevant fact when he'd said it.

Still laughing, Lore patted his father's shoulder. "You didn't even have to think about that one," he said.

Frowning, Squall wondered if Lore was complimenting him or patronizing him. Fearing he was becoming more like Laguna, he let the matter go and decided there were times when even he shouldn't venture speaking. "Fifteen minutes," he warned.

"Crap!" Lore cried, whipping around and running across the main flat.

"What do you want on your toast?" Squall asked before the boy left sight.

"Cinnamon sugar!" the youth returned, disappearing down the hallway.

Sighing, Squall gave the blond man a sardonic look before turning and moving into the kitchen.

"What, no apron?" Seifer mocked, following the lithe figure closely.

"It's being dry cleaned," Squall shot back sarcastically, rearing back when the tall ex-knight shadowed him too closely. Shooting the man an icy glare, he stalked away at a faster pace.

"Touchy," Seifer jibed, claiming a seat with his coat before sitting and nursing a slightly bruised ego. He wasn't old.

Returning to his abandoned mug beside the coffeemaker, Squall ordered in warning, "Don't eat the toast."

Mouth open for his first bite, Seifer shot the brunet's back an incredulous look. Silently replacing the piece he'd taken, he began to ponder the meaning behind having eyes in the back of one's head. "I've done some bad things, but I'd never steal another person's toast," he assured.

Rolling his eyes, Squall grabbed another mug from the cupboard. "So why are you really here?" he questioned evenly, finally pouring himself a cup of coffee.

Staring whimsically at the plain, generally unappealing slices of toast, Seifer pined over the loss. "I wanted to see you," he stated airily, his words seeming to have no greater meaning or underlying motive.

Shocked, Squall turned and gave the ex-knight a scrutinizing look. Coffee pot in hand, he stood frozen for several moments. Realizing the man was only taunting him, he turned back and poured a second cup. Dishing out unidentified contents into each mug, there was a bout of silence broken only by the chinking of a stirring spoon. Every so often, a dull thud could be heard distantly, which was no doubt Lore running about and getting ready.

At length, Squall spoke, "I thought you were meeting the contractors today." He crossed the room, walking closer to table with both mugs.

"Thanks," Seifer said, taking the offered cup with a disarming grin. Subtly studying pale features, he found that the dark circles beneath stormy eyes suggested little sleep had been gotten after the short nap on the cold ground the night before.

Scowling, Squall set his own cup down and took the plate of toast, intending to fix it to his son's specifications.

Watching the steam rise off the light brown liquid for a moment, Seifer found greater attraction in watching Leonhart move about with smooth grace. There wasn't a moment's hesitation in anything the brunet did. It was so different from the formidable lion he faced during fights, yet it was the same person. The grace of movement was similar, but between the two extremes of gentle and brutal, the gap was too large. Was such a thing possible? So different were the auras, that he'd swear it wasn't his rival before him if he couldn't plainly see the scar he'd given years ago.

It wasn't until after his first sip, consciously relishing the taste, when Seifer paused to realize what had just transpired under the radar. "How'd you know?" he questioned, raising his plain white mug to gesture his point of reference.

Shrugging, Squall continued to shake a mixture of cinnamon sugar onto buttered toast. "You used to punish cadets by making them bring you breakfast," he said, frowning in memory. "Zell stills hates you for that."

Barking with laughter, Seifer slapped his knee with his hand. "That's rich," he declared, taking another sip.

"Only you would think so," Squall mumbled to himself.

Seifer continued to stare at Leonhart, feeling a sense of déjà vu. He supposed it was simply from when he'd been sitting at the same table ten years ago, watching the brunet make the snot nosed brat hot chocolate. He'd been given something to drink then as well, though he'd had to ask for it more than once to get it. Bristling in discomfort, realizing he was staring a bit too much, he said, "I am meeting the contractors, but not until later."

Dusting his hands off over the sink, Squall glanced at his watch once more. "Can I use your phone?" he requested, crossing the room with expectancy. Knowing Lore wouldn't have time to sit down and eat, he set the boy's breakfast before an empty seat nonetheless. Not wanting his first taste of coffee to be lukewarm, he stole a quick sip before retrieving the blond's phone.

Grumbling over his obligation to compensate the former commander, Seifer fished his cell phone out of his pants pocket. "You're welcome," he grunted when it was snatched from his hand.

Not replying, Squall paused to remember the number he wanted before dialing with the soft click of each button.

"Who're you calling?" Seifer asked. Tempting death, he snagged a now appetizing piece of toast. There was little subtly in taking the first bite, the crunch of it immediately drawing Leonhart's attention.

"Seifer," Squall growled, slapping the blond upside the head. Balancing the phone between his ear and shoulder, he pulled the dangling slice from the man's mouth and took the plate from out of arm's reach.

"I haven't eaten yet," Seifer complained, licking sugar from his lips.

"Yes," Squall spoke in a less agitated voice to the person on the other end of the phone. "I'm calling in regards to my son. He's won't be making it on time to his first class."

Frowning, Seifer mouthed the words Leonhart had spoken with mocking facial expressions.

"Lore Leonhart," Squall specified. Setting the plate down on the island counter with a clatter, he muttered, "Excuse me?" Leaning to the side, hip jutting as though the person on the other could witness his disgruntled stance, he scowled at the missing bite taken by the ex-knight. "That's fine." With indignation, Squall ended the call.

"What's fine?" Lore questioned, entering the kitchen in a fast stride while buttoning his blazer.

"I have to write you a note," Squall muttered with distain.

Laughing, Lore consoled his father, "There's a new hire in the main office. I'm sure she asks every parent to write a note."

"I think I'm missing something," the blond piped in.

"It was Mr. Dresden," Squall supplied coolly.

Failing to hide his amusement, Lore grinned. "I've got a pen and paper in my bag," he said before excusing himself for a moment.

"I'm still missing something here," the ex-knight reiterated.

Frowning, Squall approached the attention craving blond. "I told you not to touch the toast," he said with an icy glare.

"Well you set it right in front of me," Seifer returned. He had long arms, which meant anything set on the table was right in front of him. Leonhart should have known he'd do it anyway.

"Here," Lore said, holding out a notebook and pen as he came back into the kitchen.

"Thanks," Squall said. Taking the items from his son, he flipped the notebook open from the back and set it down on the nearby counter top. In a quickly flowing scrawl, he proceeded to right down what he'd relayed over the phone, only now with his signature.

"I'm sure it happens to every parent. I bet it's the new policy this year," the dark haired youth continued to reassure.

Tearing the page out, Squall handed it off. He knew for a fact that most parents could just call in and it was enough. "It's fine." He was used to it already, but had hoped there would be a point in time when they'd recognize his voice. Apparently, he didn't sound like a parent, which was in actuality only a result of not sounding old enough. Still, he couldn't help but feel as though certain people sounded like parents because they were meant to be parents, whereas he'd never sound like one. It was entirely ridiculous, but there were some things even he wasn't very confident about in life.

"What's fine?" Seifer questioned irritably.

Shaking his head, lengthy strands of dark brown hair shifting, Squall dismissed the matter. "Are you ready?"

"Yeah, but you don't have to drive me," Lore returned. "If they know I'm coming late, I might as well come really late."

Scoffing, Seifer stated, "Really late is going for your last class of the day, not ten minutes into the first one."

Rolling his eyes, Lore began to realize how truly agitated the ex-knight became when ignored. "I can take my time parking," he said to his father.

"Are you sure?" Squall questioned, leaving the offer open. "I don't have to be anywhere today."

"Spend the day with Cale," Lore said grudgingly. "In a public place," he added.

"Lore," Squall began. "We've already-"

"I know," Lore cut in, "but this is the only way you can be certain. Get coffee, see a movie, or whatever you guys normally do together. If it's not there, it's not there. If it is, then you've got my blessing."

Seifer listened in confusion, growing suspicious with every word. "If what's there?" he spoke up, standing and striding closer.

"I should go," Lore said. Moving in, he hugged his father, throwing the ex-knight a glare over a narrow shoulder. With an impromptu peck to a pale cheek, he stepped back. "I've got early practice, so I'll be home around six."

Nodding, Squall said, "Your grandpa might be here for dinner."

"Same as every night," Lore commented, folding the note his father had written and pocketing it.

"Wear a hat," Squall requested as he tousled slightly damp hair.

Making a face, Lore complained, "It'll dry weird."

Squall frowned, but didn't press the matter.

Smirking, Lore compromised, "My jacket has a hood." Without further delay, he hastened from the kitchen.

"I repeat," Seifer began, circling around the former commander and taking the kid's place before the man. "If what's there?"

Blinking in momentary confusion, Squall blushed at the prospect of discussing such matters with his former rival. Even under the circumstances of having a son together, they were hardly more than the rival's they'd always been.

Straightening his posture, using his height in fruitless domination, Seifer gazed down. "That look you have only makes me more curious," he informed, willing to commit as much time as it took to wheedle information out of the tightlipped conundrum of a man.

Unappreciative of being pressured, Squall promptly brushed past the ex-knight. "You can finish your coffee, then let yourself out."

Acting automatically, Seifer latched onto an upper arm before the lithe man moved very far. "Hey," he said for lack of something better to say.

"What?" Squall bit out, yanking his arm from the blond's hold.

"I was just asking a question," Seifer soothed.

Eyeing the tall man suspiciously, Squall eventually muttered, "It's personal."

Scoffing, Seifer quipped, "You've had my child, yet something spoken in casual conversation is too personal?"

Gaze narrowing, Squall reminded, "Ten years ago, you denied that Lore was your son. You showing up out of the blue and settling down in Esthar is your business. I'm not an open book."

"Fair enough," Seifer muttered. "But I want more of your time this morning than it takes to drink a single cup of coffee."

"Whatever," Squall bit out, striding from the room.

"Where are you going?" the blond questioned, following closely.

"I'm taking a shower." Spinning around, nearly causing the larger man to crash into him, Squall asked testily, "Is that okay with you?"

"Don't get snide Leonhart, I didn't come here for that."

Squall just glared before resuming his fast stride towards his bedroom. "I'm not sparring today," he called over his shoulder, hoping to disappoint Seifer in whatever expectations the man had for doing that morning.

"That's fine, my blade's at the smith with yours," Seifer explained.

Confused, Squall slowed. Stopping just outside his bedroom, he glanced back at the arrogant ex-knight. "Why'd you come here?"

Smirking, Seifer reached out and tapped the brunet's nose, laughing at the cross-eyed look given before the ice prince jerked away. "I already told you," he stated. "I just wanted to see you."

Blushing slightly, Squall wasn't sure what to make of the blond's words. Lips pressed tightly together, he scowled at the man before tearing from his place and stalking into his bedroom.

"I'll just make myself at home then, shall I?" Seifer muttered as the door was slammed in his face. Grinning, he said to himself, "Now I have to know."

Content to wait, Seifer decided to have the kid's food, which was sitting forgotten on the kitchen counter.

Not even caring that the toast was cold, Seifer munched on it while drinking his coffee. The silence was somewhat annoying, but it gave him time to collect himself. From the moment he'd been greeted with Leonhart's delicately scowling face, he'd been hard pressed to ignore what he'd done the night before.

The fact that it hadn't even been a real kiss was perhaps the most irritating part about it. For the amount of brooding he'd done, he might as well have kissed bowed lips in a manner he couldn't write off as chaste. There hadn't been a single sensual aspect to it, which was why he'd been confident he could forget about it.

The minutes added up, and Seifer found himself on his third cup of coffee. Out on the small balcony off the open flat of the apartment, he wondered if he needed to go in and fish Leonhart out the bathtub.

After half an hour for what should have taken five or ten minutes, the ex-knight decided he'd been plenty patient. Uncrossing his legs, he turned the television off and stood from the couch. Though not entirely certain why he still lingered when he wasn't going to be getting another spar out of it, he felt compelled to stay.

Testing the handle of the brunet's bedroom door, Seifer let himself in. With an insulting remark on the tip of his tongue, the words fell flat when he found the almighty ice prince curled up on the bed.

Wearing naught but a pair of loose fitting denim jeans, it was apparent that the former commander had not meant to settle in for a nap.

"What are you, narcoleptic?" the blond muttered, quietly approaching the bed in the middle of the room. If memory served him well, then the room hadn't changed much since he'd last seen it.

Seifer gave Leonhart's pale back a scrutinizing gaze. From the nape of a slender neck, green eyes followed the visible contours of a lithely muscled back. All in all, he'd swear he was looking at a woman. Not the most feminine woman, but a warm and supple fleshed woman all the same.

Frowning, he crept closer and observed wet locks that had dampened the pillow. Towering over the brunet's unguarded form, the ex-knight glanced at the navy blue t-shirt clutched by delicate fingers. In the middle of getting dressed, it would seem Leonhart had been more tired than appearances let on.

Taking pity on the exposed fighter, knowing that small frame didn't have enough fat to keep warm, he tugged at the top quilt.

Stirring a bit, Squall mumbled something incoherently before shifting around. Eyes scrunching shut, heavy lids eventually opened and grey-blue eyes glanced up to see the disapproving frown of a former rival.

Sitting up, Squall took a moment to assess his blunder. Rubbing his eyes, they watered as he yawned. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"I've been waiting for four hours now," Seifer complained.

"Four hours?" Squall intoned incredulously, eyes widening as he realized more time had passed than he thought.

Chuckling, Seifer said, "I'm just messing with you. It only felt that long."

Looking down at his right wrist, Squall found no watch. For that matter, he found himself without a shirt. "What time is it?" he asked, eyes finding the shirt he'd intended to wear before.

"It's a little before nine," Seifer answered, eyes involuntarily drawn to an unfamiliar scar. Faded, it was a slightly pinkish color, a bit lighter than the beauty he'd given to Leonhart's face. The straight lined precision of it screamed that it had been surgical. Straightening up abruptly, he covered his sudden meandering of thoughts and chastised, "Use the blanket if you don't want to get sick. You fell asleep on the ground last night, idiot."

Scowling, Squall muttered, "I was tired." Shrugging into his shirt, he tried to remember how he'd wound up on the bed.

"Then get some sleep," Seifer countered, common sense on his side.

Yawning in response, Squall covered his mouth while his cheeks heated. Having given himself away, he glared at the amused expression that overcame the ex-knight's features.

"Sometimes it's too easy," the blond jibed victoriously.

Coughing, Squall cursed the unraveled display he presented when he couldn't stop right away.

Sobering, Seifer's hand was at Leonhart's forehead before he could think twice. "As always, I'm right," he declared, his most victorious moment lacking his usual gloating tone. "You've got a fever, and I can only imagine why," he added.

Knocking the blond's hand away, Squall shook his head. "I'm fine," he stated.

"You're always fine," Seifer pointed out. "You're also too stubborn to admit to being anything else, so it's a little hard to trust your word on this."

"What do you care?" Squall hissed, angry at the hands that pushed his shoulders to make him lie down.

"I don't," Seifer declared defensively, giving a final shove to narrow shoulders and forcing Leonhart back down.

Stilling for a moment, Squall stared dubiously. "Why are you still here?"

Jaw clenching, Seifer found he didn't have a good excuse. "Because I've got time to kill and your little tantrums amuse the hell out of me."

"Is that why you came here this morning?" the brunet questioned.

"Maybe," Seifer said uncertainly. "I did just move to a foreign country, and you are the only person I know around here."

Seeming to find plausibility in the blond's words, Squall backed down. It had taken him years to become accustomed to Esthar. He still hated the crowds. Even when Irvine had been at his side, the unfamiliar had been a struggle to coincide with. Cale was the first friend he'd made in all the sixteen years he'd been there, and even that had been triggered by no longer having Irvine or Selphie nearby.

"I can leave, if you're so adverse to the idea of my being here," Seifer offered, smirking inside at the sudden gentle edge that overcame stormy blue eyes. He knew Leonhart wouldn't turn him away.

"No," Squall replied. "You can stay."

Nodding his thanks, Seifer redirected, "I'm not playing doctor though, so where the hell do you keep the B-12 shots?"

Glaring halfheartedly, Squall slid beneath the covers and turned his back on the imposing ex-knight. "You can stay, but I'm not playing host," he muttered, indirectly stating that he was going to go back to sleep, if only to spite Seifer.

With a huff, Seifer announced his departure with a jostling shake of the bed. Nearly out the door, he stopped. "That scar," he said, not quite managing to ask the question he wanted to. It somehow seemed wrong of him to ask anything concerning the pregnancy, not when he'd spent the past ten years pretending like it had nothing to do with him.

Squall knew which scar Seifer meant, having caught the brief gaze of green eyes at his abdomen. "Yeah," he confirmed, knowing the question inside the ex-knight's head.

"Did it hurt?" Seifer followed up hesitantly, not knowing what else to ask, but wanting to know more about it.

Rolling over, Squall gazed across the room, hugging the blanket close. "Not really," he answered.

Swallowing thickly, Seifer found himself staring into stormy blue eyes for a long moment. Nodding numbly, he turned away and left the room.

TBC…

Author's Note: Yay, another chapter completed. Thank you all for reviewing. I'm trying to be more on top of replying to each review, and hope to make a habit of it from now on.


	16. Chapter 16

Defining Love

Chapter Sixteen

In a room at the end of the hall, Seifer had become completely immersed in reliving a past that he'd never find documented in any history books. He'd found a virtual time capsule composed of countless photos.

Seated on the edge of a bed, there were several boxes set near his feet. Each box was date stamped, spanning from almost seventeen years ago. Inside each was an array of smaller shoebox sized containers. Though not full to the brim, there were more pictures than he could possibly look at in one day. He hadn't pegged Leonhart as the sentimental type, but he also hadn't imagined the stoic man making a half decent parent.

Starting from the beginning, Seifer saw for himself what life was like immediately following the war. Everyone seemed to be smiling in a sickening manner, such that the camera didn't even have to be there for him to know they were grinning like fools anyway. It wasn't surprising that a certain moody brunet was never caught smiling freely. Constantly dressed in a uniform that couldn't have been comfortable for the youthful man, the commander was always standing behind a podium or surrounded by countless adoring cadets and officers.

Skimming through any pictures that didn't have Leonhart in them, Seifer found there was an abrupt change. The commander was suddenly casually dressed in every photo and the crowds had disappeared. At most, there were three other people near by, all familiar faces. It didn't take a genius to figure out what had happened. The pregnant man had resigned and gone into hiding.

"Seifer?" Squall called quietly from the doorway.

A bit surprised, Seifer looked up quickly. Hesitating a moment, knowing he was intruding on the former commander's privacy, he concluded that the boxes hadn't been marked as private and were therefore fair game.

Green eyes studied the pale man, trying to place the changes in the rival he'd left behind. Cheeks hollower and chin a bit narrower, puberty-boy had grown up. The effect may have been the result of weight loss, but he'd say it was the loss of all baby fat. "You're a sight for sore eyes," he stated. Flushed cheeks and dark circles beneath slightly dazed eyes were all he needed to know which way the brunet's cold was going.

Groaning a low tone of annoyance, Squall didn't reply with words. Glancing around, not needing to ask what the ex-knight was up to, he walked in. "Ask first," he reprimanded, voice slightly strained.

"May I?" Seifer muttered, continuing to shuffle through a pack of pictures. "Ever heard of digital?" he complained. In truth, there were benefits to be had with hard copies. It was easier to sort through, able to spot more than one picture at a time.

Giving the blond a withering glare, Squall settled in at the head of the bed. He had mixed feelings about someone else rummaging through his past. However, judging from the pictures the ex-knight currently shuffled through, it wasn't just his past captured on film. Though the baggy shirts didn't show it, he'd been over three months pregnant.

"You realize when those pictures were taken, don't you?" Squall questioned skeptically, wondering why the blond continued to gaze at each photo. It seemed counterintuitive that a man who'd wanted nothing to do with having a child would have an interest in such pictures. Selphie had taken most of them, against his wishes every time.

Hands slowing, Seifer stopped his quick shuffling and settled on a rather fetching picture that he found difficult to absorb. Leonhart was smiling, perhaps even laughing. Shirt raised, Kinneas' head was pressed close against a visibly round stomach. The similar expression of amusement on the cowboy's face lead him to believe something was going on inside.

Frowning, Seifer turned around and held the picture up. "What the hell is Kinneas doing?" he questioned tersely, greatly annoyed by what he saw.

Leaning against the headboard with a pillow in his lap, looking as though he might fall asleep while sitting, Squall glanced through heavy lids. He scowled at the foolish expression on his face, even if reminiscing threatened to put a smile on his face at that very moment.

Sighing, Squall replied, "He's feeling Lore kicking."

"Couldn't he do that with his hand?" Seifer muttered darkly.

Shrugging indifferently, Squall didn't see why it mattered. "Selphie probably wanted him to do it that way," he offered, guessing as to why Irvine had put an ear to his abdomen.

Scoffing, Seifer turned his back to the brunet again.

"Why are you suddenly so interested?" Squall questioned, eyeing the boxes he'd stowed away. Lore had always enjoyed looking at the pictures, most of them anyway. Selphie had gone through a photography phase after the war and her overwhelming need to document everything had trumped his loath for being subjected to her picture taking.

"I'm not," Seifer returned with annoyance. "I'm bored," he added in explanation.

Shaking his head, Squall slowly crawled off the bed. His throat hurt, along with just about every other part of his body. He hated the achy feeling. Intent on making himself some tea, he figured it was harmless to let the ex-knight stay and rummage around. "Whatever," he commented before leaving the room, entirely baffled by the blond's odd behavior.

"You should be sleeping," Seifer called out through the empty doorway.

Not replying, Squall slowly made his way to the kitchen. He didn't need Seifer to tell him what he should be doing. He was certain that if he hadn't been half asleep, finding Seifer in the guest room with those boxes would have thrown him into a state of shock for a good five minutes. The ex-knight's behavior was peculiar, to say the least. He had no idea what was running through the man's head.

Rubbing his forehead as his headache became worse, Squall leaned against the island counter while water for his tea heated in the microwave. He cursed his cold, or whatever it was that had suddenly hit him. It was an inconvenience. He needed to see Cale, but would have to put it off. It wasn't fair to leave the younger man hanging for so long.

Staring off vacantly as he ran a few practice scenarios of what he'd say to Cale, he would have fallen asleep while standing up if the microwave's beeping hadn't stirred him suddenly. Taking the mug out, he unwrapped a tea bag and set it in to steep. Thinking it prudent to take something for his cold, he searched a nearby cupboard for whatever was on hand. He hoped the medicine would at least keep him from getting any worse.

Shuffling along, he progressed slowly towards his bedroom. Hating to waste his day sleeping, he'd hate it even more if he crashed later on while Lore was home. He could only imagine the fuss Laguna would make.

Pausing before he entered his room, Squall glanced farther down the hall and considered the man still sitting in there as though having no place else to go. He knew what it was like to look out the window at such an architecturally intimidating city and prefer to stay inside and away from the crowded streets. However, he'd cooped himself up inside with a newborn child to take care of, not a childhood rival for company.

Wondering once more what had caused Seifer's odd behavior, knowing it had to have been more than just seeking out a familiar face, he was stunned for a moment. Could Seifer possibly regret leaving all those years ago? Impossible as it seemed for a man of the ex-knight's character, his bias of loving Lore above all else made it difficult for him to also see how anyone could willingly choose to walk away in the first place.

Biting his lip in thought, Squall wondered if Seifer was secretly becoming attached to Lore. Ten years ago, he'd been afraid of such a thing happening, too insecure as a parent to believe his role wouldn't be diminished to nothing.

Unable to soundly conclude what someone else was feeling or thinking, Squall let it go. Assuming that the blond had better ways to pass the time than to hang around in his apartment looking through pictures of an unwanted life, he felt it was in his best interest to leave it alone and just go with the flow. His head couldn't take much more. When he was feeling better, he'd try to process it all again.

Sighing, Squall took another sip of tea. Closing the door behind himself, he glanced at his bed, filled with reluctance to get in it. He hadn't stayed up the entire night talking with Lore and debating the evils of dating Cale just so he could take the next day off. He'd been consumed by recent events for the sole purpose of figuring his feelings out and quickly doing something about them.

He could always call Cale. Discussing the matter over the phone seemed wrong, but it was better than not calling or visiting altogether, and certainly better than going to sleep while such a heavy issue hung over everyone involved.

Resigned to once again asking Seifer for a little help, he mourned the loss of his phone as he strode down the hall. Standing in the doorway of the guest room again, steaming mug of tea held close, Squall studied his blond rival for a silent moment.

Every bit of Lore that wasn't from himself came from Seifer. The boy's broad frame that no one had expected from the small child was thanks to Seifer's tall and formidable stature. The green in Lore's eyes was the same green in Seifer's. A strong chin and roguish good looks were miles away from his effeminate features. Lore's dark hair and pale skin were like his own, but he couldn't deny the differences that would always be there.

Speaking up before he was caught staring, Squall requested, "Can I use your phone again?"

Ignoring the brunet's question, Seifer frowned as he compared different photographs. "It jumps," he stated. "Here, you're huge," he said while gesturing to one pile of pictures, deviously plotting to make fun of the formerly pregnant man later. Pointing to another pile, he said, "But in these, the kid's almost a year old."

Squall scowled. He had a sore spot for the shape he'd been in while pregnant. Disregarding that it had been sixteen years ago, he had half a mind to burn all images of his nine-month pregnant body. No amount of exercise could have kept his stomach from looking like a balloon, which had been entirely natural, considering the unnatural circumstances. He also wasn't entirely over his fear of Seifer barging in and messing up a good thing he had going with his son, and the ex-knight's apparent dislike for missing baby pictures seemed to support his theory about the blond becoming attached to Lore. All in all, Seifer prevailed in saying the just right thing to irritate him.

"I've only glanced at the other pictures, but it looks like a day hasn't gone by in between," Seifer continued to observe. The dates marking each individual shoebox confirmed his words. It struck him as odd that there wouldn't be any pictures of the boy as a newborn. Wasn't that when people usually went trigger crazy with a camera?

"Are you going to let me use your phone or not?" Squall bit out hoarsely.

"Sure, just tell me who you're calling and why. Then tell me if the pictures are out of order, or if I'm seriously seeing a jump here," Seifer demanded, already tired of the tedious work involved in getting the tightlipped brunet to give him answers.

"Give me the damn phone," Squall ordered, glaring icily. He didn't take kindly to being ordered around for any manner of business.

Seifer rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you're a real tough guy with that cup of tea," he jibed.

"There are pictures missing," Squall replied, compromising on the exchange of information for the phone.

"Because?" Seifer intoned expectantly.

Holding his hand out, Squall demanded the use of the phone before explaining anymore.

Wagging his index finger back and forth, Seifer chastised, "Patience is a virtue Squally-boy."

Glaring, Squall tried to relay what he was going to do with his patience if Seifer didn't stop being so demanding. "I've already accommodated your wants today," he reminded. In his home, searching through a very personal collection of pictures, the ex-knight had pried enough for one day.

Grunting a note of displeasure, Seifer dug his phone out. Tossing it to an unsuspecting brunet, he laughed when hot liquid sloshed dangerously in the attempt to catch the phone.

Glaring at the blond for such childish antics, Squall took his leave to call Cale.

Prepared for the possibility that Cale was teaching a class or living life in general, Squall was half expecting to wind up leaving a message. He was mildly surprised when the younger man picked up right away.

"Hello?" Cale answered uncertainly.

"Cale," Squall said quietly, hoping his voice wasn't so scratchy that it was unrecognizable.

"Squall?" the professor sounded in bewildered excitement.

Smirking despite himself, Squall closed his bedroom door and walked to his unmade bed. Starting with an owed apology, he said, "I'm sorry about Lore and Irvine."

"No, it was fine," Cale assured. "I was worried I'd run you off," he admitted.

Shaking his head, forgetting the action couldn't be seen, Squall went right for the heart of the matter and confessed, "I've been confused." After a short pause, he corrected, "I'm still confused."

"I love you," Cale replied solemnly. "That's one thing you don't need to doubt."

Slowly sitting on his bed, Squall blushed furiously. Suddenly very glad that the conversation was taking place over the phone, he worried solely about figuring out what to say and not how to compose his expressions of schoolboy embarrassment.

At length, Squall answered the sincere man's feelings. "I can't return that," he stated evenly.

With uneasy laughter, Cale reassured, "I never expected you to. I knew I was out of my league-"

"Cale," Squall interrupted, not wanting to hear any more self-deprecating nonsense from someone he'd come to like as a friend. "I'd like to try."

There was a long pause of uncertainty on both ends. Squall wasn't sure Cale was still there, while Cale couldn't believe what he'd heard.

"What?" the professor asked. "Try, as in…"

"As in, date," Squall stated bluntly, a weight lifting from his shoulders as he finally gave a decent reply. It was out there now. He was only promising to try. If his feelings didn't change, then he'd deal with breaking up later.

Disbelieving laughter sounded on the other end. "I'm dreaming," Cale commented.

Squall wasn't accustomed to having that sort of effect on a person. It was awkward, but also nice in a certain sense. It was different than being admired for defeating Ultimecia. He incited desire and love in the man, and part of him was attracted to that and enticed by it. He wanted to explore the unfamiliar, hoping to find what Irvine and Selphie had found in each other. Lore was growing up fast. With Cale, if it worked out, then he wouldn't be alone when the time came for Lore to leave.

"Hyne Squall," Cale murmured, sobering a bit. "When can I see you? Where are you right now?"

"I'm home," Squall said. Realizing that the younger man probably shouldn't be around him while he was sick, he informed, "I'm sick right now."

"Are you alright? I mean, you're sick, obviously you're not alright. But, can I get you anything?" Cale tripped over his words, excitement overcoming his brain's ability to form thoughts coherently.

"No," Squall said quietly. "I'm fine."

"Then I'll call you later?" Cale said, more of a question than statement.

Without his phone, Squall had no way of having Cale call him later without explaining why he was using Seifer's phone in the first place. "I'll see you at the university tomorrow," he offered instead, not really up for elaborating on the weird intricacies of his relationship with the ex-knight.

"If you're sick, I'll come to you after practice. It ends at eleven, so you can sleep in," Cale returned, knowing how Squall disliked being fussed over, but not wanting the sick man to show up so they could swim laps like usual.

"Okay," Squall agreed, not certain if he'd get any worse.

"Feel better Squall," came the parting reply before Cale hung up, intentionally trying to seem less overbearing with his feelings.

Relieved that the call hadn't ended with another declaration of love, Squall flipped the phone shut. Feeling as though a relationship with Cale might not be so out of his league, he was content in his decision and actually anticipating what happened next. The younger man understood him fairly well, never urging him to speak when he didn't feel like it and never fretting uselessly over his physical or mental health. The man was certainly attractive enough to make him ambivalent about gender.

Knocking harshly before opening the door, Seifer strode into Leonhart's bedroom with hopes of catching the brunet in the middle of talking on the phone. "Oh," he muttered in disappointment.

"Oh," Squall mimicked with an icy glare, mood changing rather quickly. He knew what Seifer had tried to do. "Here," he said, chucking the phone at the ex-knight's head.

Easily catching the object on a crash course for his head, Seifer grinned. Leonhart always paid everyone his or her dues, as shown by the scar on his face. "Don't leave me hanging Squally-boy."

Rolling his eyes, Squall said, "Put everything away when you're finished."

"Sure thing baby," Seifer agreed, laughing to show he was joking when stormy blue eyes seemed to flash like they did before attacking. "Who'd you call?"

Jaw clenching, Squall chose to give an upfront answer. It was easier than dealing with the goading man for another hour. "Cale Bernhein."

"Who's that?" Seifer pressed curiously.

Sighing, Squall rubbed his eyes. "You met him when you ran into Lore."

Thinking back, Seifer easily remembered the brief meeting. "Whitey?" he questioned incredulously. "Fujin's cousin with the high heels?"

Glaring for each separate insult, Squall replied, "He's taller than you, get over it."

"What'd you want with him?" the blond muttered darkly, not trusting anyone with more than one red eye.

"That's not your business," Squall replied evenly.

"Riiight," Seifer drawled, sauntering closer. "When you put it that way, I completely understand. I am devoted to respecting your privacy," he said sarcastically.

"There's a difference between my personal life involving our son and my personal life involving other matters." Stormy blue eyes gazed with firm resolve.

"So I can pry as much as I want if it's got something to do with the kiddo, but everything else is off limits?"

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Squall commented, "Something like that." He was too tired to think. Sinking lower, he all but collapsed onto the bed, in front of someone he'd never shown weakness to before. Something was different between them. He'd always prided himself on keeping a cool composure, especially around his former rival. Yet recently, he came undone around the blond and didn't seem to care.

"Alright," the blond agreed with an air of superiority. Sidling closer, shins touching the edge of the bed the brunet half laid on, he looked down upon the pale man. "Then what sort of man is Bernhein, and how much will he be affecting _my son's_ life?"

"…" Squall hardly felt Seifer's loophole was brilliant or worthy of legitimizing with an answer.

"What do you say Squally-boy?" the blond pressed, towering over his rival's form with a gleam of insatiable curiosity in his eyes.

"I say, you have a right to know more about Lore, even if your interests in him are fickle and never seem to land solidly on either side of the fence," Squall returned, glaring upwards as he leaned against a pillow. "I don't feel well. That's the most I'll tell you about myself. Whether Cale is a friend or a lover or my accountant is none of your concern."

"Is that so?" Seifer mumbled, angry and troubled at the same time. He was surprised at how high handed Leonhart could seem while lying in a bed, and even more surprised that the word 'lover' had been used. He had a knot of dread in his stomach, knowing the tall man with silver-white hair was not spending time with Squall to crunch numbers.

"Let yourself out," Squall replied, echoing his earlier words for the ex-knight to leave him alone.

Redirecting his line of questioning, hoping to trip the stubborn lion up, Seifer asked, "Why are there pictures missing?"

"Ask Lore," Squall suggested. "It'll give you something to say to him that isn't insulting." Hardly a dinner topic, if Seifer wanted to do more than exchange insults with his son, then the ice needed to be broken. Though he didn't love the idea of Seifer and Lore becoming friends, everyone deserved a second chance. He couldn't imagine his life without the boy, and was powerless to deny Seifer even a fraction of that bond.

"I always get what I want Leonhart," Seifer declared, straightening up. Experiencing déjà vu for a moment, he berated himself for not cracking the brunet's tough outer shell on his second attempt. Leaving the former commander once again, he chose to pack up and retreat for the day.

Seifer wasn't sure where his curiosity came from or why he hated the Hell islander so much. All his life, Leonhart's status as a loner had been a constant. It wasn't something he questioned, just assumed. To think that the ice prince was traipsing around town and warming the beds of other men was infuriating.

With the dawning realization that he was quite possibly jealous, Seifer left Leonhart's apartment in a terrible mood. His days of brooding and confusion were only beginning.

TBC…

Author's Note: Okay, these last two chapters were a bit slow going. The next chapter will be much more exciting. The wheels are in motion, so let the love triangle begin.


	17. Chapter 17

Defining Love

Chapter Seventeen

It was Sunday evening and Seifer had spent the week trying to stay as active as possible. Action was the enemy of thought, and he did not want to think. Between drawing up plans and meeting with the right people for his training center, plus trying to memorize the layout of the city, he had little opportunity to question his strange feelings regarding Leonhart.

It was to the ex-knight's misfortune that while journeying unfamiliar streets, he should catch sight of villain tainting his thoughts so completely.

In a bar, celebrating his continued success in the business venture, Seifer was perhaps mildly intoxicated after a few beers. Giving more than a buzz with only a couple bottles, Estharian beer was a whole different level that cost an arm and a leg to have outside the country. There was more than a decent chance he'd get laid that night, a dolled up brunette at the counter eyeing him with obvious interest. He'd been moments away from leaving his lonesome booth to invite her over, but he happened to glance out the window and spot another striking brunet.

He was beyond frustrated with his inability to comprehend why he felt the way he did. Since he'd arrived in Esthar two weeks ago, he always wanted to see the former commander, be it for a friendly spar or to extend his talents in annoying such an impassive person. And if he gave his brain enough time to form thoughts, then he was always thinking about the frosty eyed pretty boy. Between the kiss he'd given, which he still refused to classify as a real kiss, and the jealousy he felt toward his rival's possible lover, he wondered if he were losing his mind. He was no fool. His denial only lasted long enough to see if he'd had some twenty-four hour bug. In the end, without even having to think he knew his symptoms were indicative of some level of infatuation.

Knowing that what made a man jealous of another person's lover was wanting to be the lover, Seifer's not so brilliant scheme to avoid Leonhart altogether was foiled in under seven days.

Out of sight to begin with, he berated himself for ducking low in his seat. Why the hell should he hide?

Standing out on the sidewalk, having just left some place that looked like a bookstore, if the neon sign shaped like a stack of books was anything to go by, the former commander stood idly. Waiting with his hands buried in the pockets of his bomber jacket, fur collar pulled high to keep the cold air at bay, the brunet was wholly unaware that he was being watched.

Frowning, Seifer wondered what the pale man had been up to. There was no sign that a purchase had been made. It was a few moments later that he felt his stomach drop.

"Son of a bitch," Seifer hissed as he watched a tall man with silver-white hair leave the shop as well, plastic bag weighted with what could only be books, judging from the rectangular outline.

"I'm sorry sir, the woman in the red dress ordered another beer for you," a thoroughly frightened waitress informed, tray held to her bosom for fear of further retaliation.

Stirring, Seifer glanced at the waitress who'd brought him his drink. Glancing beyond, he found his previous target for seduction raising a glass in cheering salute before smiling coyly. "Not you," he muttered to the waitress, waving a hand in dismissal. Mood darkened, Seifer nodded his thanks to the long legged brunette, but made no move to get up and greet her.

Instead, Seifer returned his focus outside the window. With frosted writing detailing the bar's name and slogan, it would take a keen eye looking in his exact direction to spot him. It was a prime location for spying, at least spur of the moment spying.

"Fucking homo," he cursed under his breath as he observed the intimate gesture of whitey directing Leonhart with a hand at the small of the back. Anyone with two bits of common sense to rub together knew that Leonhart hated being told what to do or directed where to go.

To his horrified surprise, nearly causing him to choke as he took a swig from his nearly finished bottle, green eyes saw the directing hand rise to encompass narrow shoulders. Swallowing painfully, Seifer grit his teeth at the sight of the pair walking off as though it were normal to be pressed close in public.

Action being the enemy of thought, Seifer didn't think twice when slapping down his gil and rushing to following the strolling couple. He didn't know where they were going or what they were up to, but he intended to follow. He liked to think he was clear headed enough not to do anything stupid, but as he lengthened his stride to keep pace with the couple, there was a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach that seemed to tell him he'd wake up tomorrow feeling like a fool.

--

Outside Leonhart's apartment building, Seifer watched from the park across the street. Trained in tracking, it was hardly a difficult task to follow someone on foot and not get caught when the streets were so crowded. It was almost impossible to lose the pair when Bernhein was taller than everyone else with white hair.

Striding across small courtyard that had Griever's fountain in the center, he positioned himself to have a better angle on the pair.

Green eyes narrowed with baleful thoughts as he witnessed the clichéd drop off point at the doorstep. It was when the guy was either invited to come up or turned away for having said the wrong thing during dessert.

The gesture Leonhart made to the door seemed to indicate an invitation up.

"Slut," Seifer whispered under his breath, wondering when his cloistered rival had become so loose.

In a relieving turn of events, Bernhein seemed to decline with a shake of the head and apologetic smile after giving some excuse. "Yeah, I heard all you islanders have tiny pricks," the blond commented to himself, drifting toward a tree with limbs still bare.

Across the street from the park, Squall and Cale stood together. About to part ways, Squall had asked if the professor wanted to use the gym inside with him. With a final few midterm papers to finish, already late handing them back, Cale had explained that he needed to get going.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Cale said.

Nodding, Squall left it at that. Turning, he began to open the door, but was abruptly halted.

"Can I kiss you?" Cale requested, hand gently gripping the brunet's shoulder. The past week had held some rather awkward instances where they'd taken the transition from friends to lovers. Holding hands, sitting close, touching, and kissing were commonplace for any couple. It was different with Squall though, because the quiet man never seemed to protest any of what he did, but he couldn't be certain it was wanted.

Sighing, Squall assured, not for the first time, "You don't have to ask." He was indifferent to the quick pecks given as a greeting or parting. Unless it was something deeper, more meaningful, then he didn't see the point in it. Still, he wasn't oblivious to the norms of any relationship, nor was he a prude in any respect other than not having ventured to have a serious relationship.

"For this I do," Cale returned before stooping to capture bowed lips.

Squall stiffened briefly, not having expected more than a quick touching of lips. He was still a bit uncertain what to do when not in control. Finding himself on the other end of the exchange, where an arm was wrapped around his waist and a steadying hand cupped the back of his neck, instincts took over and allowed him to relax and accept it.

There was an edge of fierce need to the kiss, something that struck a chord in Squall. It wasn't overly demanding, but asking him to accept it. Chaste and publicly appropriate were quickly thrown out the window when a seeking tongue begged entrance.

Uncertain at first, Squall found himself responding to the kiss the same way he responded to being held. His body reacted instinctively, which was an asset as a fighter, but troublesome when that instinct was physical desire.

Gripping the front of the tall man's jacket, Squall gained a bit more leverage. Parting his lips, he deepened the exchange. Suddenly held tighter, he realized Cale had been holding back. It wasn't necessarily surprising when the professor had been in love with him for roughly a year. His week of slowly regarding Cale as a boyfriend had brought only tentative steps towards intimacy, whereas a year's worth of pining had probably left the younger man with unfulfilled needs to have it all.

Wanting to do so much more, Cale knew it wasn't the time or place. The urging need he felt as a man was growing with each moment he spent with Squall. Having buried it before, never considering it an option to express, he didn't know what to do with himself anymore. He wanted to stumble into the small lobby of the apartment building, ravish Squall's lips while riding the elevator up, tear those baggy clothes off to reveal the lithe body beneath as they tripped their way inside the right apartment, and take the brunet slowly on any surface that had enough room to accommodate thrashing bodies.

Squall had quickly learned his body responded to Cale's touch. Physically, it never took much for him. He'd always been sensitive, his experiences amounting to little when compared to other men. Having grown up in an environment that didn't have affectionate parents, the act of kissing someone or hugging someone meant something to him. He didn't do or say anything he didn't mean.

Pulling back before it became too much to handle, crimson eyes gazed intensely at Squall's lips. Soft and sensual, they seemed to ask for more all on their own. "That was a bit much," he commented breathily.

Stormy blue eyes regarded the handsome professor with renewed patience. "Don't idolize me," he chastised. Careful as Cale was not to do anything wrong, that in itself was doing something wrong. "Just be normal. I'll worry about limits."

"Do you mean that?" Cale questioned, slowly releasing the body in his hold. His relationship with the brunet seemed so fragile. He felt as though if he held it too tightly it would shatter.

With a challenging expression, Squall refused to repeat himself.

Grinning wryly, Cale kissed Squall again. Simpler this time, he lingered only long enough to impart some of what he felt for the brunet. "I'll call you later," he said, wishing he didn't have any responsibilities to take care of.

Managing to make silence give an agreeing reply, Squall watched Cale walk away. Opening one of the double doors leading into the building's lobby and mail area, he promptly shut it when the professor was out of sight.

Grey-blue eyes scoured the area across the street. The park was not fenced in, most of it visible with all the trees bare of leafs. Not finding his stalker immediately, he crossed his arms in warning. Granted he was in public, but he knew that someone had been watching longer than to just catch sight of him kissing Cale. The last thing he needed was a peeping Tom putting him back in the newspapers for dating a man. He'd had enough ridiculous speculation about his sexuality when he'd been pregnant.

Finding it pointless to search for someone who probably knew what he was doing and wouldn't be coming out any time soon, Squall turned away and disappeared into his apartment building.

Seifer grinned victoriously, only to become angry the next moment. Leonhart not spotting him did little to reverse what had happened moments prior.

His anger was born of jealousy. He was jealous that someone else had been kissing Squally-boy, which was to say, he was jealous that it hadn't been him. If the former commander were gay, then why the hell were pretty blue eyes wandering to some albino professor. He was damn sexy and should have attracted the brunet despite the running confrontation between them.

He wasn't looking to have sex where there was more than one cock involved, but that didn't mean he should be written off. Had Leonhart ever even considered him? It was just rude, and he wouldn't stand for it.

If he had to coerce Leonhart to rub tanning oil all over his muscles, he'd do what it took to seduce the pretty boy just to prove he was sexier than bookworm Bernhein. His ego couldn't take being passed over.

As Seifer quickly left, not wanting to be spotted from Leonhart's window, he completely overlooked the fact that he'd been feeling confusing emotions toward his rival before the professor had even entered into the picture. That night at the abandoned warehouse and every moment he felt like he'd be happiest hounding the brunet for shits and giggles, it all meant something. Bernhein was just an excuse to act without admitting possible infatuation, which was strictly out of the question.

--

Squall didn't know whether Seifer had become increasingly busy or if the blond had made new friends and moved on. He was surprised when he received a call from the ex-knight, having grown a bit disappointed that the man suddenly disappeared.

Barely wrapping a towel around his waist after showering the chlorinated water off his body, he fumbled to find his new phone in his coat pocket.

"Seifer?" the brunet questioned upon finally managing to put the phone to his ear. With one hand holding sopping hair away, not certain the device was waterproof, he waited to hear what the blond wanted.

"Are you up for a fight? Your blade's good as new," the ex-knight's baritone voice sounded at the other end.

Debating for a moment, muscles mildly fatigued after going all out in the pool, Squall shrugged impassively and said, "Okay."

"Same place as last time," the blond directed.

Scowling, Squall brushed off his annoyance at being told where to go. "Fine," he agreed once more, intending to express his annoyance with his blade.

"See ya soon sweet cheeks," the ex-knight jibed before hanging up.

--

Squall arrived in the fortieth district approximately twenty minutes after talking with Seifer on the phone. The drive itself had constituted most of the time spent. His hair was as dry as he could get it without using a blow drier, but he didn't think it mattered when sparring would keep his body's temperature up.

The former commander felt slightly foolish for forgetting about his gunblade. He'd assumed Seifer's pattern of showing out of the blue would have become something of a habit, giving him plenty of opportunities to question about the state of his weapon.

The day was warmer than the previous time he'd traveled towards the outskirts for a spar. The sun was still up, which might have had something to do with it. It was almost five o'clock and Lore wouldn't be home from the presidential palace for at least another hour. Just in case, he'd left a small note on the refrigerator.

The area was completely cleared as though the half finished structure had never been there in the first place. Squall glanced around, expecting to find the scrapped ruins of it piled somewhere or the demolition machines that had done it. It was just a vacant expanse of packed dirt, a dusty tan color so like the desert bordering the city. The horizon line was similar to any part of Esthar, tall buildings that reflected the sunlight during any time of day.

Having spotted another car while parking nearby, Squall knew he wasn't the first to arrive. There was a lone figure with two gunblades. Picking up the pace, he jogged closer, hoping his body was already warmed up from his swim.

"Long time no see," Seifer greeted, proffering the simple revolver blade to the newcomer. Lionheart was the sort of weapon intended only for serious battle, and he didn't expect to see Leonhart wielding it again any time soon.

"Busy times?" the brunet queried impassively, approaching close enough to accept his weapon. Stepping back, he rotated his wrist and brought the steely blade in a wide arc to get a feel for the weight.

Shrugging, Seifer hastened the spar by taking his stance. Waiting for the brunet to catch on and stand across from him in a similar pose of predatory defense, he dropped a small bomb and replied, "I hope you weren't too lonely without me. It would be a shame if you resorted to finding someone else to keep you company."

Stormy blue eyes narrowed with suspicion. The accusation in Seifer's tone was blatant. "It was you," he concluded. Shocked, he wasn't entirely sure what to make of it. When the blond charged forward, giving him barely enough time to dodge in his state of distraction, he understood there would be more than blades battling.

Straightening up and following the lithe man's movements, Seifer scoffed. Side stepping in turn with the brunet, the two of them slowly circling around, he reasoned, "It could have been anyone with the way you did it. Next time broad cast it on TV." Bolting forward, he sought to cleave the former commander in two, the dark grey color of his blade not meeting bone and flesh, but ringing out as it struck hard steel. "I thought you had higher standards," he hissed, applying greater force to make the weaker man disengage first.

"Better than what?" Squall bit out defensively, his entire body straining to push Seifer back. This wasn't the spar he'd been expecting. Though there was never anything very friendly about trying to kill each other with gunblades, there was always a constant safety in knowing neither one of them would lose control or actually hit the mark of tender flesh. The atmosphere was different now, frighteningly similar to when the blond had abruptly unleashed pernicious feelings and given him his most prominent scar.

Not knowing why the blond even cared, Squall's mind was torn between concentrating on not losing a limb and trying to process what would have confused him even if he had nothing else distracting him. This was more than taunting, the ex-knight was actually angry. "Cale's a good man," he declared lowly. What business was it of Seifer's?

"A good man? Maybe," Seifer conceded. "A boring man? Definitely," he added disdainfully.

Frowning, Squall fought to remain calm and collected. Unable to do so under the circumstances, he disengaged. Drawing his blade down, he deflected his opponent's weapon and staggered to the side. "Since when do you care?" he hissed, regaining his footing and putting some distance between them.

"Since I have to watch the two of you suck face like a pair of prepubescent boys," Seifer returned heatedly, lashing out once more.

Dodging, Squall used an opening to sweep the blond's feet, almost managing to trip the man. "Then look away," Squall resolved with rising anger, quickly jumping back and out of reach. There was nothing wrong with Cale or the way they'd kissed, and no one had forced Seifer to watch.

"It's like a train wreck, puberty-boy. I couldn't look away from such a disaster."

Sprinting closer, Squall didn't give any forethought to his next attack. He shouldn't have been so angry. Seifer could have made a career out of pissing people off, and although he knew it was done for that purpose only, there were times when even he couldn't handle it. The tone in the ex-knight's voice held such solid disapproval, making the words more than empty taunts.

"Whoa there," the blond soothed mockingly as he defended with ease, using the brute force he'd always had. "Did I hit the nail head? You're not insecure about performing are you? I didn't think you'd have trouble. Just bend over and spread, that's all you gotta do. I'm sure it can't hurt much with his tiny pencil dick."

Sounding a low note of struggling effort, closely akin to a feral growl, Squall managed to wipe that cocky grin off the ex-knight's face by making the man take a step back. Their blades were in a stalemate, but he had strength in his body that rivaled Seifer's. He might be physically weaker, but he could hold his own and was more stubborn than anyone else.

"Getting tired Squally-boy?" Seifer goaded, seeing the subtle shaking of arms and the clenching jaw that was biting hard under the strain.

Glaring icily, Squall resorted to the blond's level. Disgraceful or not, he didn't care. "I'd rather bend over for Cale than deal with a jealous asshole like you." His words didn't register as true until he'd spoken them. Seifer was acting jealous, but that still didn't answer why.

"Jealous?" Seifer scoffed with incredulity. "Jealous of what? I hate your kind."

The interpretation of what _kind_ it was that the ex-knight hated was up to Squall's imagination. There were a few key choices for him to pick from, number one being homosexuals. "Now who's insecure?"

"Insecure about what Leonhart? Next to Hyne, I'm second best," the blond declared with unrivaled arrogance.

"What's wrong with you?" Squall hissed, not understanding what had brought about such antagonizing.

"You!" Seifer answered, surging forward and knocking the brunet to the ground. Not giving the leveled man time to get back up, he swung in a downward arc.

Rolling to the side just in time, the blade intended to leave him without a left arm imbedded in the ground, Squall promptly rolled back and grabbed the man's arm with his legs. Latching on and keeping Seifer from withdrawing the gunblade, he dropped his own weapon and used his hands to twist the man's wrist until forced to release all grip.

"I came for a spar, not a death match," Squall hissed, deciding that if things got serious, he didn't want gunblades involved.

"They're one in the same," Seifer muttered darkly, wrapping an arm around a slender neck and attempting to choke the brunet into defeat.

Letting go of the ex-knight's arm, Squall concentrated on getting out of the sleeper hold he was put in. Elbowing the blond in the stomach, he repeated until a winded grunt and loosened hold indicated his chance at freedom.

Before he could regain his breath, the wind having been knocked out of him, Seifer tackled Leonhart. There was a good chance that once the light footed man was out of reach, it would be game over.

Crashing hard to the unforgiving ground, Squall grunted as pain flared through his right shoulder. Seifer was no light load to have atop him while falling and it didn't help that he'd landed wrong entirely. "Hyne, what's your problem?" he said through gritted teeth, trying to ascertain if he'd dislocated his shoulder or not.

"A lot of things," Seifer replied, pinning the brunet down.

Relenting, Squall went limp. Assured his shoulder was still intact, it still hurt and radiated spiking pain as the blond's grip tightened. "Well don't take it out on me. Ease off, something's wrong with my shoulder."

Jade green eyes bore into steely blue for a long moment. Situation setting in, Seifer slowly regained some sense of cool. Letting go of narrow shoulders, he set his hands at either side of Leonhart's grimacing face. Hovering on the brink of indecision, not certain it would count as seducing if he forced himself upon the brunet right then, his mind steadily cleared. Climbing off the defenseless body, he sought to fix what he'd done.

Squall eyed the blond suspiciously, taking a long moment to study the helping hand offered. Wincing, he held his shoulder and stood up on his own, blatantly refusing any help.

"Is it dislocated?" Seifer questioned, balling his fist as he lowered his hand.

Glaring, Squall stated, "Don't take your frustration out on me. If you have issues, leave them behind when we spar."

"You sound like Trepe," Seifer jibed lightly, testing the waters on how seriously angry Leonhart was.

"…" Squall glared. Turning away, he stooped carefully to retrieve his gunblade. Keeping his right arm bent and pressed close to his chest, he bit his lip as the injured area protested the movement.

"You want me to drive you to the hospital?" Seifer questioned, genuinely concerned about the damage he'd caused.

"I don't want you driving me anywhere," Squall hissed. "I can smell the alcohol on your breath." Hefting his blade high, he rested the blunt end on his good shoulder. "I didn't think you were stupid enough to pick up a weapon while drunk," he muttered before stalking away.

Not exactly drunk, Seifer couldn't truthfully state that he was entirely sober. He wasn't slurring words or tripping over his own two feet, but choosing to follow Leonhart around town had obviously been the result of impaired judgment.

"Fuck," Seifer cursed, watching Leonhart leave.

Feeling as though he'd hit rock bottom, he decided some outside help was in order. Whether or not his pride could handle it, he needed to consult his posse and find some way of apologizing that didn't involve admitting he'd been wrong.

TBC…

Author's Note: I hope you liked it. If only Seifer could be man enough not to care about liking another man. That would be too easy though. So, I took a bit of a cheap road and moved things along by getting a character drunk.


	18. Chapter 18

Defining Love

Chapter Eighteen

Squall nodded his thanks to Dr. Odine. With Dr. Kadowaki out of the country, he'd had to settle for the uncouth scientist to take a look at his shoulder. It was an acromioclavicular separation. Though it was minor enough to not require surgery to reset his clavicle, the ligament needed time to repair before going through the sudden changes a potion would make. So, that left him with the most annoying form of treatment. Following the doctor's orders, he was supposed to wear a sling and rest his shoulder for the week, then return for more fast acting healing.

Diagnosis made, he had to deal with the frizzy haired man's invasive staring.

The old man who'd been the genius behind Esthar's technological advancement was the president's personal physician, and an overly qualified one at that. The down side to seeing Odine and having his minor injury taken care of was having to deal with the man's obsessively curious nature. Squall's pregnancy had been an absolute delight for the doctor and continued to arouse intrigue to that very day.

"Is that all?" the white haired doctor questioned hopefully, pressing for a complete examination.

"Yes," Squall mumbled, slipping his shirt back on carefully once coming to the understanding that any further examination would not be related to his injury.

"I can give you something for any pain between now and next week," Odine offered, already making the prescription out.

"That won't be necessary," Squall said firmly. It was bad enough that he'd have to wear a sling and remain as inactive as possible for the entire week. If Lore or Laguna caught him taking something for the pain, then he'd be forced to stay in bed by the pair of overprotective family members.

"Are you absolutely certain there's nothing else I can help you with?" Odine pressed once more, moving closer with a sling for the former commander.

Snatching the sling from the old man, Squall attempted to put it on by himself. Failing to succeed, he accepted Odine's help. He scowled at how readily the doctor jumped into action.

"I'm just a doctor," the obsessive scientist began with persistence, "but in my opinion, you're a bit too pale. Are you feeling anemic? Or fatigued perhaps? Your eyelids look a bit flushed, are you having trouble sleeping?"

"I'm fine," Squall bit out, jolting as he felt the man's hands grope his side.

"You're a bit thin for your height. Are you experiencing a loss of appetite? The transition after your pregnancy was rather rapid. Most women struggle with their weight, yo-yoing because of metabolic and mental changes."

"I'm not a woman and it's been sixteen years," Squall reminded tersely.

"My, my, has it really been that long?" the old man questioned with disbelief. Fumbling around, he patted his lab coat pockets to no avail. Eventually finding his glasses on top of his head, he put them on.

Squall shied away as Odine leaned in close. Wanting to push the man back, he couldn't begrudge the doctor after all the help he'd been given throughout his pregnancy. Odine had delivered Lore.

"You don't look a day over twenty," Odine observed, keenly eyeing every inch of the younger man's face.

Annoyed and uncomfortable, Squall slipped off the examination table and distanced himself from all wandering hands. "Look at my father," he suggested evenly, not needing to be interrogated about whether or not he used anti-wrinkle cream. Aging was a part of life and one of few constants, even if it didn't affect everyone the same way. He was no longer the seventeen-year-old boy that had been made commander, and he was better for it. Having wrinkles and grey hairs wasn't what constituted maturity. He was thirty-five years old whether or not he looked it.

--

In Pop's Pub, the trio of former disciplinarians sat together to catch up on what happened in their lives over the previous couple of weeks.

Past the customary banter and ice breaking chitchat that set the mood, Seifer's ordering of coffee was on the table for questioning.

"What exactly did you do, ya know?" Raijin asked, wondering what could possibly be bad enough to make the ex-knight swear off all alcohol.

"I wasn't even that drunk," Seifer muttered darkly, sipping his coffee. He wondered why it seemed to taste like shit despite the fact that he used to love anything from Pop's Pup.

"EXPLAIN," Fujin ordered, single eye gazing intensely at the blond man. Only a month pregnant, she looked the same as always and was surprised to have Seifer show up again before her belly was well rounded.

Sighing, Seifer set his cup down with a chink. "I already told you guys that I've seen the kid and been hanging around Leonhart, right?"

Nodding enthusiastically, Raijin commented, "It was like a total shocker, ya know? I was actually beginning to think you didn't care about having a son."

Grimacing at the notion, Seifer corrected, "I don't give two squirts about the boy. He's still the same snot nosed brat I saw ten years ago, hanging all over Leonhart. I never thought anyone could be a bigger mama's boy than Dincht."

"Well," Raijin began uncertainly, only to keep silent under the warning glare from his wife. Any rationalizing that placed Leonhart with the benefit of the doubt or included Seifer being wrong was not to be said aloud.

"Leonhart's gay," Seifer announced quietly, as though uncovering some masterful plot.

Raijin and Fujin both stared at Seifer expectantly, waiting for him to finish.

"Come on guys, act a little surprised," Seifer cajoled angrily. "He's fucking making out with some asshole islander in the middle of the street. I'm surprised Leonhart doesn't have more kids."

"EXPLAIN," Fujin reiterated, still confused. As much as she wanted to be on the same page with their posse leader, the ex-knight was hard to follow sometimes.

"Leonhart likes dick," Seifer said slowly, annunciating each syllable.

Shivering, Raijin commented, "That's gross, ya know?"

"Thank you!" Seifer exclaimed.

"I meant the way you said it was gross," Raijin corrected. "The fact that he's gay doesn't really bother me so much, ya know?"

Glaring, Seifer ordered, "Shut up Rai, you're not helping."

"Helping?" Raijin returned defensively. "How can I help, ya know? I can't make Leonhart like girls or nothing. 'Sides, I'm still stuck on why you're not drinking anymore."

Staring for a long while into the burly man's uncomprehending brown eyes, Seifer concluded that Raijin was sincerely making an effort to listen to his troubles in the hopes of helping somehow. Not having alcohol to loosen himself up, he decided to just put it all out on the table despite the beating his ego would take. "It's like this," he began, hands folded atop the table diplomatically.

Fujin kicked Raijin beneath their table, stopping the man before he interrupted Seifer. It was obvious the blond's mind was worked up and in ten different places at once. There were likely many issues that had resulted in the ex-knight's return.

"I got a little tipsy and did some stupid shit yesterday. It's over and done with, but until I can stop obsessing over certain matter, I'm not touching anything that'll make me do something stupid again," Seifer explained more clearly.

"Do we get to know what it was you did?" Raijin questioned curiously. For as long as he'd known the cocky blond, doing stupid things just meant ignoring the consequences and acting as if it hadn't happened. For the man to sit there and admit to doing something regrettable, it had to have been big.

"I won't tell you what I did, but I can tell you what I plan on doing," the blond offered, not entirely certain he wanted feedback on his latest scheme.

"Where have I heard that before," Raijin muttered. All of Seifer's get rich quick scams had started with a master plan and ended with trouble.

"SILENCE," Fujin demanded. Whatever the plan, she'd help the ex-knight.

Shifting in his seat, Seifer first tried to explain his standing in regards to Leonhart being gay and having a boyfriend. "Don't you think there's something seriously wrong with me having been around Leonhart for years, and not once did he try to hit on me?"

Laughing, Raijin trailed off abruptly when no one else joined in. Glancing to Fujin, he asked, "That's a joke, right?"

"No it's not a joke," Seifer bit out. "It's insulting is what it is."

"Oh man," Raijin commented, running a hand through short strands of spiky black hair. "You're on an ego trip again," he thought aloud, wincing as he was promptly kicked in the shin. Though Fujin didn't wear pointy shoes like so many other women, she wore steel-toed boots that were even worse.

"From what I can tell, Leonhart just started dating this guy," Seifer explained. "That means I showed up at roughly the same time. Either Leonhart's been giving me the cold shoulder because he knows he can't have me or he just doesn't know a good thing when its staring him in the face."

"You're not gonna like try to break them up or nothin' are ya?" Raijin asked fearfully.

Scoffing, Seifer corrected, "I'm just going to prove who the better man is."

--

Squall answered the door with a grim scowl that had been in place long before he'd heard knocking at the door. Dr. Odine had a big mouth and apparently very little respect for patient confidentiality, though he suspected the obsessive scientist had known exactly what blabbing to the president would result in.

Laguna had been informed about his minor injury, which meant the nation would have to run itself while the president spent time with a supposedly invalid son. Naturally, Lore had been informed with many embellishing details that made it seem like he'd lost two arms and a leg.

Now, Squall had an appointment with Dr. Odine every day for an injury that simply required a few days of not using his gunblade.

"Bad time?" Seifer questioned as the door opened and he was greeted with a less than welcoming scowl. He almost cringed at the sight of Leonhart's arm in a sling. Leaning against the wall, he stood confidently with his coat unzipped to display a muscle-hugging shirt of forest green that brought out the color of his eyes. Wearing the tightest pair of jeans he owned, which weren't really all that tight, he made certain the gay man's eyes wouldn't be able to resist checking out his ass. He'd heard that gay men had a thing for the ass.

Glaring, Squall blamed the ex-knight for everything. However, at the sound of Laguna shouting out from the bathroom that he should be in bed, the blond became his savior. "Perfect timing," he muttered darkly, stepping out into the hall. "Give me a ride," he ordered, nearly insane from being caged in his bedroom for two days.

About to question the brunet's odd request, Seifer was silenced by a childlike gesture with an index finger placed before the mouth in a shushing action. Loosing face to keep from laughing, he missed his cue to hurry and was consequently dragged toward the stairs near the elevator.

"Quiet," Squall hissed as the stairwell door shut slowly.

Mastering himself, Seifer remembered why he was there in the first place. Reaching a hand out, he ruffled choppy strands of dark brown hair. "That was real cute Leonhart," he said as casually as he could, as if he often ruffled the former commander's hair.

Knocking Seifer's hand away, Squall stared in shocked confusion. Unable to make any conclusions, he simply warned, "Don't touch me." Turning away and walking down the stairs, he automatically assumed he'd receive his ride as compensation for being put under house arrest because of Seifer's stupid drunken rage.

Stunned for a brief moment, Seifer wasn't sure what had happened until he replayed it in his head. He'd just been rejected. Not only that, but how the hell was he supposed to play the part of eye candy if Leonhart was in the lead?

"Hurry," Squall called back over his shoulder in clip order. Laguna wasn't stupid and would probably check the stairs after noticing the elevator wasn't in use.

Jade-green eyes narrowed. Lips forming a thin line, Seifer glared as his mood darkened drastically. He wouldn't be discouraged or told what he could or could not touch. Shuffling along, he slowly followed Leonhart down seven flights of stairs, sulking the entire way. When they reached the lobby, he nearly collided with the form that stopped walking abruptly. "What gives?" he complained.

Backing up, Squall turned, knight right into the broad formed ex-knight. Darting a quick look upwards, his attention was drawn away when he suddenly realized the annoying inconvenience of his sling. Slipping out of the impeding contraption, he motioned for the blond to follow him after checking to make certain the lobby was clear.

Frowning, Seifer went along with Leonhart for the sake of getting what he wanted later. "I didn't park in the ramp," he informed despite himself when he noticed the brunet heading towards the exit in the lobby clearly marked as a way to the complex's parking garage.

"…" Squall glanced at the ex-knight expectantly.

Jaw clenching, Seifer swallowed his pride, a feat not to be attempted without someone nearby who knew the Heimlich. For the greater good of seducing the frigid ice prince and soothing his sore ego, he reasoned that making nice with the silent and infuriating man was key.

Wary for a moment when the ex-knight simply turned and motioned for him to follow, Squall wondered if something was wrong. He dropped all questions at the dinging sound of the elevator.

--

Seifer wasn't entirely certain how he'd wound up back in his apartment with Leonhart, but that's exactly where he'd driven without being directed where to go.

It was a small place in the thirty-ninth district, close to the lot he'd purchased for his training center. His loft like flat was one of five apartments in the old brick building. The plumbing was noisy and the utilities were from an era before beam lifts and hydraulically mechanized doorways. Though he wasn't on a tight budget, he'd always been frugal with his money and couldn't be certain his training center was going to give back what he put into it.

"Home sweet home," Seifer declared in introduction as he unlocked the outdated deadbolt lock.

Stepping past the courteous blond, forcing himself not to glance back at the man for such continuous odd behavior, Squall entered Seifer's apartment with no expectations beyond a place to hide out from his smothering father. Grey-blue eyes scanned the place without bias. "You're not unpacked," he commented, noting the many boxes stacked about.

"This may be temporary," Seifer explained. Shutting the door, he unzipped his coat and hung it up on a nearby hook.

Looking back, Squall's eyes followed the blond as the man circled around him, brushing against him unnecessarily to walk by.

Gesturing to the far wall, where his bed was stationed as a fixture before a large window, Seifer offered, "You can use the top blanket to warm up."

Uncrossing his arms, Squall tried to correct his stance and not appear as cold as he felt. Wearing a pair of dark jeans and plain navy blue t-shirt, the weather had been unforgiving in its continued frigidity. "I'm fine," he stated.

Rolling his eyes at the predicted response, Seifer pointed out, "There's no place else to sit, so you might just as well take the offer." Unsettled into and unfurnished, his apartment was no oasis and not meant for dinner parties.

With a withering glare, Squall crossed the open room and sat down on the ex-knight's neatly made bed. "So what was last week really about?" he questioned idly, shifting around until he finally gave up on being respectful. Toeing his sneakers off, he brought his legs up and folded them to sit more comfortably atop the dark brownish-red quilt.

Seifer ignored the question for the moment. Rummaging around in the small kitchen nook, he took his time in fabricating a decent lie. "I was drunk," he reminded, approaching the brunet and offering a bottle of water.

Accepting the drink, Squall was confused when the ex-knight didn't let go immediately. Gazing up into jade-green eyes, briefly comparing the color to Lore's, he tugged at the bottle until the man relented and grinned in an unsettling way.

"I've been busy and a bit stressed out," Seifer went on to say, almost laughing at how naively unaware Leonhart was. Just sitting there on his bed, making it almost too easy. He wondered at such obliviousness and pitied Bernhein.

Sipping his water, Squall showed no inclination to participate in any discussion, but he listened attentively.

Casually sliding into place at the head of the bed, Seifer leaned his back against both pillow and wall. With one leg draped over the edge, he reclined openly and cast a quick glance out the window in thought. "Sparring helps to relax me," he explained further. "I happened to see you with that Bernhein guy and got a little pissed 'cause I wished I could have been beating your ass into the ground instead of explaining to some know-it-all architect why a turf flooring is out of the question."

Frowning, Squall lowered the clear plastic bottle with a soft suction sound at his lips. "Don't make it a pattern," he requested evenly, hating the prospect of never sparring with Seifer again.

Lost for a moment as he noted the brunet's bottom lip glistening from the water, Seifer snapped back to reality and jibed, "Careful Leonhart, I might begin to think you actually care."

Scowling, Squall looked away from the ex-knight's amused face. He'd never understood what motivated the man to do or say the things he did. Despite that, he did care. Perhaps he was becoming meddlesome, but he'd hoped to encourage a more civil relationship between the ex-knight and his son. Now he didn't know what to think.

"So you and a college professor, huh?" Seifer questioned skeptically.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Squall muttered, defensive after the argument he'd had with the blond during their last meeting.

"Nothing," Seifer assured, a deceivingly innocent expression in place. "I'm just curious, that's all."

"Why must you repeatedly concern yourself with my love life?" Squall asked seriously. He was a private person and unwilling to discuss such matters openly, as he'd already informed the ex-knight.

"Why is it I can only concern myself with matters of your choosing?" Seifer countered. "I can ask anything I want about you being knocked up, but nothing about some shady homosexual your bringing into my son's life."

Stormy blue eyes studied the tanned man's face. Lowering his gaze to the quilt, absently considering it to be more of an auburn color, he reluctantly apologized, "I'm sorry. I wasn't sure that this was really about Lore." Who was he to tell Seifer what to be concerned about regarding his son?

Hesitating briefly, Seifer stooped to a new low. "It's not like I'm looking to make up for lost time, but the brat's kind of likeable in a stubborn, spitfire sort of way."

Smiling subtly, Squall corrected, "He's more than likeable if you don't bully him."

Hand going to his mouth as he faked a small cough, Seifer hid his disbelieving smile. He couldn't believe how little it took to disarm the former commander. Just mentioning the kid changed Leonhart's demeanor entirely. "You get the point," he said. "So what kind of man is Bernhein?"

Frowning, Squall informed, "He's a good man."

"You've already said that much," Seifer commented lamely.

"What more should I say? It's none of your business," Squall returned. "Screening the people who come into Lore's life is still my job even if you're starting to care about having a son." The heated edge in his voice implied that he had lingering issues with Seifer taking over any fatherly duties that he considered sacred.

Scoffing, Seifer conceded that he'd misread the brunet's change of attitude. The pale fighter was just as stubbornly tightlipped after being buttered up, which was something he should have expected. "You're right," he agreed. "I have no right to act concerned now."

Struck again with the odd feeling that something was off in the blond's behavior, Squall stared at the man curiously. Wondering if he was just being overly sensitive, he sighed and chose to ignore it. Running a hand through visually impairing bangs, he took a swig of water and said nothing.

"You never asked me why I came to see you," Seifer said, attempting to keep the conversation going.

Shrugging indifferently, Squall licked his lips and waited for the answer to a question he didn't plan on asking properly.

Jade-green eyes were drawn for a fleeting moment to the effeminate man's bowed lips. Lowering his line of sight so it wasn't obvious where he'd been looking, Seifer answered, "I wanted to apologize for last time and see if your shoulder was okay."

Nodding in acceptance of the apology, Squall assured, "It's nothing."

"You're wearing a sling, it can't be nothing," Seifer refuted with false care. Hyne knew he'd given the former commander worse injuries over the years.

Scowling, Squall shrugged his right shoulder in a display of its mobility. "I came here to get away from people who care too much," he stated in annoyance, fingers brushing over the balled up sling at his side.

Eyebrow twitching at the adverse reaction to his concern, Seifer informed, "I may care more than you think." Making to get up, he moved closer to the brunet instead. Resting a hand to the deceivingly fragile man's shoulder, he gave a tentative squeeze. "Does that hurt?" he questioned, feeling around as if he knew what he was doing or could possibly make it better. Contact was essential in making his presence known.

Rearing back from the blond's hold, Squall glared. "Don't touch me," he hissed in warning for the second time.

Unable to let such a reaction go twice, Seifer defied the brunet's wishes and roughly tousled dark locks in a condescending manner. "Chill out Squally-boy, I don't bite."

Glaring fiercely, Squall knocked the offending hand away. "Don't touch people when they don't want to be touched," he demanded icily. He didn't care for any unnecessary contact.

"You can let Bernhein paw you in public, but I can't so much as check to see if your shoulder's alright?" Seifer argued, unable to figure a way of seducing such an oblivious person. What he'd first considered advantageous was now troublesome.

With a sardonic expression, Squall pointed out, "You're not my boyfriend." As the words echoed back in his head, he almost blushed at openly admitting that he even had a boyfriend.

"You think I don't know that?" Seifer bit out, standing straight and stalking away.

Shaking his head in confusion, Squall scooted to the edge of the bed. Feet planted on the floor, he slipped back into his sneakers. Having already received a ride, his expectations of Seifer had been fulfilled. He was foolish to hope for more. They were too different to be around each other and not go insane. Competing for top scores was the most their relationship would ever amount to, whether or not Lore shared their blood equally.

"Where are you going?" Seifer asked forcefully, his tone demanding the brunet stay put.

"None of your business," Squall muttered, yanking the cuff of his pant leg over the front of his shoe. Straightening back up, he stood and gazed defiantly at the ex-knight, daring the man to give him an order.

Balling his fists, Seifer fought the urge to tackle the pretty boy to the bed. He was controlling by nature and didn't respond well to defiant behavior. Leonhart brought out the worst in him and he resented the man for that. "Dammit Leonhart," he began in frustration. How the hell was he supposed to seduce the brunet when he could barely curb his murderous desires? Pernicious intentions aside, he doubted the frigid ice prince had a romantic bone in that scrawny little body.

Brows drawing together as he tried to make sense of the arrogant man's actions and words, Squall didn't leave immediately. "What is it that you want?"

"I'd like half a chance to get to know you," Seifer bit out tersely.

Frowning, Squall questioned, "You want to be friends?" He tried to disguise the shock and disbelief in his voice, but couldn't help sounding incredulous.

Wanting to scoff at the notion, Seifer figured the truth was far more extreme. "Yeah," he said quietly, mood seeming to sober as if seriously attached to the idea of being friends.

Running a hand through his hair, Squall tried to analyze the past few weeks through an altered perception of Seifer trying to reconcile past conflicts. It certainly made sense, more sense than anything else anyway, and he'd already accepted that the man had turned to him for a bit of familiarity in such an unfamiliar country. "Okay," he mumbled in acceptance, suspecting he'd just signed away his sanity for the sake of spending more time with someone who drove him crazy half the time. Whether or not it was actually possible to be more than rivals remained to be seen.

"Okay?" Seifer repeated uncertainly. Was Leonhart fucking kidding? Could it really be so easy? Just like that they were friends? "No," he muttered, thinking aloud before he could stop himself.

"What?" Squall questioned. Keeping his right arm stationary, he crossed his left arm over and shifted his weight impatiently.

Shaking his head, Seifer took a moment to reestablish the boundaries. Deception was not a game he played very often. He'd slipped into pace with an unsuspecting Leonhart, regarding the offer of friendship seriously when it should only have been considered a tool to become closer to the former commander.

Hesitating further, Seifer began to fear that his quick handed retaliation for being bypassed as a suitor was taking matters too far. Even he had his limits and if Leonhart was suddenly willing to be friends, then he was playing with more than one gay man's physical desire.

"You've been cooped up all day," the ex-knight began in hasty excuse. "Take my coat and get some fresh air. I've got a few phone calls to make."

Face expressionless, Squall studied the blond man's strong features, searching for some clue as to what was going on inside that bipolar head. First hot and then cold, he couldn't get a handle on the ex-knight. Having encountered opposition for simply putting his shoes on, now he was being asked to leave. "Whatever," he mumbled in impassive compliance.

Walking around the taller man, Squall made for the door.

"Wait," Seifer said, reaching out and grasping a thin but firmly muscled upper arm. Releasing his hold as if burned, he instinctively respected the repeated request to keep his hands to himself.

"…" Glancing sidelong, Squall tilted his head up to meet the blond's line of sight.

"Nothing, never mind," Seifer spoke with rising anger at his continued indecisiveness. Not watching, he listened to the gentle patting of soft-soled sneakers cross the empty apartment. "I still have a few things I want to discuss," he called out.

Making a point of zipping the ex-knight's oversized jacket up loudly, Squall assured, "I have to return your jacket anyway."

Plan for seduction effectively aborted, Seifer sighed at the sound of the apartment door closing. Alone, he hoped to get a better handle on the situation.

With still present jealousy over Bernhein, Seifer was faced with one of the worst predicaments of his life. Thinking back on the way his attention was so easily captured by Leonhart's every move, eyes drawn to bowed lips when they formed words or frowned, he realized that on some level he was attracted to the effeminate man.

Rubbing his face and heaving a gruff sigh, Seifer groaned in exasperation. As if his relationship with the former commander couldn't have gotten any more complicated, he had to go and develop some whacked out crush.

What he needed to decide was whether or not he was going to pursue Squally-boy or let the whole thing blow over like some sickness that just needed to run its course.

He wasn't gay, at least not in the sense that putting his mouth anywhere near another guy's dick was a turn on. Shivering in disgust at the mere thought, he decided he could be deal with everything except that. No, facial hair was another issue. He'd be okay if he were the only one with stubble on his chin.

--

Squall was glad to be outside. Calling home on the nearest payphone, he spent ten minutes consoling Laguna and assuring his father that he hadn't been kidnapped or harmed.

There was little to do beside walk around aimlessly, but after seeing nothing but his bedroom walls for two days, the fresh air was enough. It was early afternoon and the day was a rather gloomy grey.

Returning after an hour, freezing despite the excess material he swam in, Squall slowly approached the ex-knight's apartment on the second floor. Having bunched the sleeves up around his hands like makeshift mittens, he took a moment to uncover a hand so that he might knock on the door and be heard.

The second he rapped his knuckles, than the door flew open and he was yanked inside without any warning. Retaliating, Squall knocked the ex-knight's hand away and glared. Before he could so much as protest, his back met the wall.

Better than any love poems or awkward confessionals, Seifer had decided to make himself crystal clear with actions.

"Seifer, what-"

Seifer silenced the brunet easily. Holding narrow shoulders firmly, knowing it would cause less struggle if Leonhart had half a mind to consider the injury, he dipped his head low. Meeting soft lips with his own, he kissed the unsuspecting man roughly.

Eyes widening in shock, Squall didn't quite register what was going on. Considering there was no mistaking what Seifer was doing, it didn't take him very long to bring his hands up and try to push the blond off. When his lower lip was nipped, causing him to jump as if electrocuted, he struggled to shirk the hold on his shoulders off. Turning his head away, he ordered, "Stop it." As the taller man loomed in again, he tried looking the other way, but found his progress halted. "Seif-"

Taking the opportunity, Seifer slipped his tongue past parted lips. The taste was brief, barely enough time for him to feel the other's tongue before retreating at the feisty bite of teeth. Drawing the exchange to an end, he paused before pulled back and gazing down into anguished grey-blue eyes. "You've got my attention Squally-boy," he announced in a deep tone. "Be prepared for the consequences."

Brows drawing together, Squall shivered in perplexing arousal. "What?" he managed uncertainly.

Grinning broadly, Seifer released his hold. As the brunet just stood there like deer caught in headlights, he slowly unzipped the too large coat, stopping half way. Slipping his hands inside, he slid the garment off narrow shoulders. Creating somewhat of a restraint for idling arms, he was still taking a chance by not fleeing the scene right then.

Squall stood in shock and confusion. Though his brain was trying to process it, the answer he kept reaching was ludicrous, so he kept trying to reprocess it all in the hopes of reaching a saner conclusion.

Daringly, Seifer touched a pale cheek, feeling along the brunet's jaw line and affirming that he wouldn't be having an issue with stubble. It was no different than if he were kissing a woman, just a lot more dangerous.

"You seem confused," Seifer commented knowingly. "It's this oblivious and naïve part of you that makes me want to spoil you."

"S-spoil?" Squall mumbled dumbly, not certain he could form any words if he weren't repeating them. Swallowing, he felt a heat course through his body, cold fingers and cheeks suddenly too warm.

Seifer pressed a hand to Leonhart's chest. Staring down at his seemingly helpless rival, there was no mistaking the stirring in his loins. He felt terribly powerful. It was intoxicating, so much so that it threatened to cloud every sensible fiber in him. "Spoil," he repeated huskily, staring into uncomprehending eyes. "Tarnish and defile you. Rid you any innocence you still have." Fingers gripping the collar of the frozen man's shirt, he tugged it to the side, revealing the fine curvature of a pale collarbone.

Squall flinched at the feel of wet heat against his skin. Shuddering, he leaned away as his body began to react. "Stop it," he hissed, gripping strands of golden blond hair and pulling.

Biting down, not hard enough to pierce porcelain skin, Seifer sucked at the protesting brunet's collar until he'd left his mark. Knowing that any torn ligaments meant steering clear of potions and cures, he left a small gift for Bernhein to find. It wouldn't be easily concealed unless Leonhart abstained from all sexual activity.

The urge to peal away every piece of concealing clothing was hard to fight, but Seifer managed to temper himself. Task finished, he detached his mouth from now kiss bruised skin and smirked. "What if I don't stop?" he queried, hand grasping a fine jaw, directing the pretty boy to look at him properly. "That professor of yours has nothing on me," he informed arrogantly. "If you're into men, why not me?"

Eyes widening, Squall shoved at the ex-knight.

Backing away, Seifer soothed, "Don't hurt yourself now."

"Bastard," Squall hissed, tearing at the coat he wore, not even pausing when his shoulder flared in pain at the rash movement. "I don't know what joke this is, but it's not funny." Shoving the coat into the blond's hold, he made for the door.

TBC…

Author's Note: Well, this chapter certainly makes things more interesting. It may seem like progress, but it's really not. Squall and Seifer are a ways away from falling in love. 0.o

Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, and a ginormous thanks to those of you who continue to review every single time. This chapter is a bit late, but I hope it was worth the wait. I'm having one of those days where I can't seem to wake up completely, so while proofing this, my mind was only half there, that said please excuse any mistakes.

I wish you all a Happy New Year, and hope that 2007 is full of Seifer/Squall yaoiness.


	19. Chapter 19

Defining Love

Chapter Nineteen

"It's no joke Leonhart," Seifer assured, reaching out to stop the brunet's hasty departure.

Tearing from the ex-knight's hold violently, Squall bit his lip to stifle a pained grunt at wrenching his shoulder once more. Grabbing his right arm and cradling it close, he glared fiercely until the blond took a step back. "What gives you the right?" he hissed venomously.

"The right to what?" Seifer returned, half expecting to see his breath with the sudden drop in temperature he felt under those icy eyes.

"Don't touch me again," Squall said with a low tone of warning. Turning, he opened the door swiftly, if only a little awkwardly. Considering the blond's words that claimed it was no joke, he stated coldly, "I'm not interested in men like you."

Jade-green eyes narrowed at the declaration. Anger incited, Seifer couldn't begin to understand why those words hurt him as they did, piercing straight through his egotistically confident defenses. Jaw clenching, he made certain not to impede Leonhart's departure, fearing he'd do something grievously regrettable.

--

Squall stood in the small bathroom that lead off from his bedroom. Leaning over the counter and dry sink basin, he held the neck of a black turtleneck down while studying the hickey Seifer had left. Scowling at it, he raised his eyes and stared for a brief moment at himself. He couldn't deny the truth regarding what had happened. Seifer's touch had turned him. Letting go of the high neck to his shirt, he adjusted it to make certain there was no chance of anyone seeing he mark on his collar.

"Dad?" Lore called from within his father's bedroom.

Backing away from the counter, Squall exited the bathroom to answer his son's call. Knowing what was in store, he decided he could brood about being treated like a ten year old, and perhaps it would take his mind off more distressing issues.

"You're not even wearing the arm thing!" Lore exclaimed in mild outrage.

Quirking a brow, Squall walked to his unmade bed, upon which he'd left a torn strip of an old bed sheet. Having left his sling on Seifer's bed, he'd procured his own makeshift version. Picking the flimsy piece of material up, he appeased the dark haired youth by holding it out in silent request for help in putting it on. "It's called a sling," he mumbled.

Frowning, Lore snatched the ragged piece of sheet from his father's hand, not questioning where the actual sling was since it was likely lying in a dumpster somewhere. Stepping closer with a warming sense of being needed by his ever self reliant father, he said, "I know what it's called. I also know that you should be wearing it."

Having learned how to put the sling on by himself, certain he could manage just as easily with the new version, Squall bowed his head while it was done for him. He made no attempt to help, but waited like a child who couldn't tie their shoes. "I don't need it," he protested quietly, mentally refuting such a conclusion. Perhaps it had been unnecessary before, but after returning home his shoulder hadn't stopped throbbing.

Shaking his head, Lore informed, "Grandpa told me what you did."

"I just wanted some fresh air," Squall supplied in excuse, giving credence to the notion that he was like a prisoner. In truth, he was actually more stubborn than Lore and Laguna combined and could easily win his way outside.

"Fresh air?" Lore questioned incredulously. "There's fresh air on the balcony. It's the same air you went all the way to the thirty-second district for."

"I needed to stretch my legs," Squall added, pinching the bridge of his nose at how ridiculous such an excuse sounded when put into words. Though it had been true enough when he'd demanded Seifer give him a ride, it still sounded like poor reasoning.

"That's a twenty mile stretch of the legs," Lore said, not for one minute believing that there wasn't more to the story. "I assume you didn't run the whole way."

Smiling at how futile it was to fool his perceptive son, Squall relented his loose hold on the truth. "Seifer came by to apologize. I asked him for a ride."

Brows drawing together in an upset manner, Lore asked, "Did you spar with him in your condition?"

"No," Squall answered. He almost added that the ex-knight had _only_ given him a ride, but the kiss mark on his collarbone wore heavily on his conscience and kept him from lying to the one person he strove to be completely honest with. "For the last time, my condition is fine." He'd received worse injuries on a near daily basis when first training with a gunblade, but they'd all been superficial and easily mended with a potion.

Grumbling a note of disapproval, Lore hugged his father, selfishly holding onto the smaller man to sooth his worries. "You have no idea how many stupid mistakes I made on my math test yesterday because all I could think about was how you'd probably give Grandpa the slip and hurt yourself even worse."

Frowning, Squall pulled back and looked into blue-green eyes sternly. "This is nothing to go failing a math test over."

"I passed, but I didn't do as good as I could have if I were certain you'd stay home and take it easy," Lore informed.

Sighing in defeat, Squall tousled raven strands and informed, "Whatever grade you earn is your own doing."

"I know," Lore muttered, grinning reassuringly. "It was a practice test anyway."

Rolling his eyes at the plotted guilt trip, Squall asked, "Where's Laguna?"

"The kitchen," Lore informed morosely, praying the peanut butter and sour cream he'd seen on the counter weren't going into the same concoction.

Cringing, Squall hoped he wasn't going to be subjected to tasting the president's cooking. "This is what happens when you won't let me make dinner," he said.

Nodding in agreement, Lore requested, "Can we order in again?"

"Naturally," Squall replied succinctly.

Relieved, Lore moved on to other matters. "I'm tired," he declared, heaving a heavy sigh and drooping his head against his father's good shoulder. "I hate school. Can I quit?" Midterms were exhausting and that was without having soccer practice thrown into the mix.

Standing in the hallway just outside Squall's room, Irvine watched the tender moment between father and son. He couldn't recall a time when Tyler had returned from school and unloaded feelings of frustration while hugging him for comfort. Every family was different, but he was slightly jealous.

"Howdy," Irvine greeted to make his presence known.

Breaking away from his father, Lore blushed faintly. He was well aware of his so-called complex, which his uncle had repeatedly referenced during their last meeting.

Smiling knowingly, Irvine strode into the inner sanctum of the Balamb lion's personal quarters. "If you drop out now, you'd regret it," he commented.

"I wasn't serious," Lore muttered.

Amused, sensing some lingering scorn for supporting someone his nephew had deemed an enemy, Irvine simply smiled disarmingly. "Someone should stop Laguna before you guys lose a stove and Esthar loses its leader," he drawled.

Starting in remembrance, Lore said, "I'll tell him we're ordering something tonight." He rushed from the room to save his grandfather from singed hair.

"Hey darlin'," Irvine greeted more informally. Moving closer to his former commander, he leaned in and placed his customary peck to a pale cheek. Standing back, he gave the brunet a scrutinizing gaze. "You seem well enough," he commented, having heard what happened through the grapevine.

Frowning, Squall stated, "I am."

"You seem bothered though," the gunman went on to say, hand at his chin in thought. "I can spot love problems a mile away." There was no missing the marker when the practically celibate man had just entered a semi serious relationship. He'd been expecting a phone call, but taken the opportunity to visit so that Squall couldn't hang up on him when he tried to give advice on how to play bottom in bed.

Gaze sharpening in surprise, Squall's free hand shot to where Seifer had marked him. Clutching his shirt, he cursed silently at whatever had been in his eyes that gave him away.

"What's that?" Irvine queried with underlying excitement.

"What's what?" Squall returned impassively, lowering his hand as if he hadn't reacted to the gunman's words moments before.

Smirking, violet-blue eyes alight with glee, Irvine commented slyly, "I didn't take Cale as the aggressive type, fooling around when your shoulders busted." In fact, Cale was the exact opposite of aggressive, more likely to change ice packs for an injury than instigate a make out session. There was always a chance that Squall had started something, but he didn't quite think that was the case.

Cheeks heating, Squall felt a sense of unease as how dangerously close the auburn haired man was getting to something he'd rather take to his grave.

Waiting for a few moments, Irvine's expression changed from that of excited interest to that of shocked disbelief. Eyes widening, he couldn't be certain he was reading Squall's subtle look of guilty worry right. The former commander was as calm and composed as ever, but those stormy blue eyes couldn't hide everything. "You're not…" he began, but trailed off in order to better phrase his question. "Did someone else…"

Jaw clenching, Squall stood on pins and needles. He could say any number of things to keep the gunman from speaking further, but it would come out sooner or later.

"Dad, is pizza okay?" Lore called down the hallway from in the living room.

Jumping at the chance, preferring later over sooner, Squall walked around the annoyingly perceptive former playboy. "No. We're not having junk food two nights in a row," he answered, already trying to remember the number for the deli in their district that delivered on weekdays.

"Mind if I stay for dinner?" Irvine questioned with obvious intentions of cornering the brunet some time that night.

Pausing at the doorway, Squall glanced over his shoulder. "Won't your wife miss you?"

"She's chaperoning an overnight fieldtrip for Tyler's class," Irvine informed smoothly, as if to say he had all night to badger the truth out of the tightlipped man.

Glaring halfheartedly, Squall muttered, "Whatever."

--

Squall spent the majority of dinner brooding over what Seifer had done, trying to make sense of it. Every so often, he'd glance up from his nearly untouched sandwich and lock eyes with a puzzle solving gunman, at which point he'd promptly look away.

Reflecting on the kiss he'd been given and the way his body had felt, Squall couldn't fathom a more backwards matching of actions and reactions. Falling deeper into the clutches of his vivid thoughts, he sunk low in his seat as he shivered in memory of wet heat on his skin.

Snapping to, Squall stood from his seat abruptly. All eyes turned to him and he felt mortified at what he'd been thinking about during a family dinner. "Excuse me," he mumbled, picking his plate up and working his way around the table.

"What's wrong?" Lore asked, making to get up as well.

"Nothing. I'm fine," Squall assured, waving a hand and gesturing for the raven-haired boy to stay seated.

Moving across the kitchen, Squall opened a drawer near the sink and proceeded to store his food in plastic wrap. There was no sense in being wasteful just because he couldn't bring himself to eat.

Setting his empty plate in the sink, he turned around and faced the spectating group. "I'm fine really. Finish without me," he instructed, wishing his actions could go without interrogation just once. Leaving the room to sort his thoughts out privately, he felt as though confessing to Irvine might not be so bad, since he wasn't able to figure much of anything out on his own.

Irvine stayed Lore by squeezing the troubled boy's shoulder. "Sometimes he really is fine and sometimes he needs time alone."

Hazel-green eyes watched the brunet's lithe form disappear from view. For the most part, Laguna was well adjusted to the relationship he had with his son, even when his ideal bond of affection was flaunted in front of his eyes every time he saw Lore and Squall together. Still, he sometimes wondered just how his son perceived him. Was he always going to be 'Laguna'? Sixteen years seemed to conclude as much, but he was hopeful that there would come a time when the retired commander would call him 'Dad'.

"I'm going to call Kiros and have some work sent over," Laguna announced, pushing back from the table and excusing himself to make the call. The implication that he would be spending the night was clear.

"Thanks," Lore said before his grandfather left.

Glancing back with a broad grin, Laguna assured, "When you're done with your homework, we can watch a movie."

Shoulders sagging, Lore realized the president's decision to keep him company was really just an excuse to good off. Nonetheless, his grandfather's presence would ultimately help him forget that his father was being unusually distant. "I hate it when he doesn't talk to me," he stated, in no mood to finish his dinner after spending most of the meal without a single word from the man he idolized.

"Welcome to the club," Irvine consoled. "I think his brain's just too worked up."

"About what?" Lore asked, not having realized there was any new development in his father's life that would weigh so heavily on the man. Frowning, he concluded that something had happened with Cale. "What did Cale do?" he hissed.

Chuckling good naturedly, Irvine easily decided that it was best he not voice his suspicions. The protective boy would flip out if he admitted to having doubts about what had happened and who was involved. "I think it's the usual trouble with work," he offered in misleading conjecture. "He probably had to pass up an assignment 'cause of his shoulder, and the headmaster's been real stingy with giving him work in the first place."

"Well it's not like they can have him doing the dirty work," Lore said.

Shaking his head, Irvine refuted, "Dirty work is exactly what your dad wants to be doing. He'd take a ten day sweeping mission in the middle of a marsh over an hour of office work in a heartbeat."

"Do you think we were too hard on him for leaving?"

"Leaving?" Irvine questioned.

Nodding, Lore elaborated, "Seifer showed up and before Grandpa could stop him, Dad left so he could get a ride."

Looking deep in thought for a moment, Irvine frowned. Shaking his head to dismiss such a ludicrous notion as Squall having done something with Seifer Almasy, he smiled at his own foolishness.

--

It was late, later than Squall had intended for it to be. He'd immersed himself in work on his laptop, seated in the kitchen where he could see into the main flat and monitor Lore and Laguna. He'd developed a rather odd typing method, using only one hand unless necessary to use both.

The sudden lack of noise was what drew his attention. Looking up, he peered over the screen of his computer and saw the TV was off.

"You gotta see this darlin'," Irvine drawled quietly, setting the remote down and standing up from the couch.

Closing his laptop, Squall left his place at the kitchen table. Frowning as he was gestured to be quiet, he approached the couch slowly. Stormy blue eyes beheld the sight of his son and father asleep, apparently unable to take a second movie in one night. The similarity in their leaning poses, each utilizing a small pillow and an armrest, was amusing enough to put a smile on his face.

"I think it's past your children's bedtime," Irvine said with an amused grin. "And time for the adults to have a little talk."

Squall regarded the gunman with slight apprehension, wondering just how much the lanky man knew. Given a knowing wink, he feared the man must have read his very thoughts. "Indeed," he agreed in defeat.

Nodding in satisfaction at finally having his chance to interrogate the secretive brunet, Irvine left Squall to tuck the sleeping boys in for bed.

Sighing, Squall went about waking the raven haired duo and sending them off to bed. It was a slow going task when neither seemed compliant with waking up or retiring before he did, but he managed to plead his case of staying up just a little bit later to talk with Irvine.

With Lore and Laguna down for the night, there was nothing left for Squall but to deal with a mysteriously knowledgeable gunman. He was reluctant to speak with the auburn haired man, yet also compelled to discuss the source of his troubled mind. Their long termed friendship had bread many understandings between them, which usually helped more often than not.

With an assuring smile, Irvine welcomed the brunet's company. "Have a seat," he offered.

Declining, Squall shook his head. Moving towards the other end of the room, he asked, "Do you want some tea?"

"Please," Irvine accepted, figuring he might as well if the brunet were making some anyway.

Squall went about his task silently.

"Don't laugh," Irvine warned, jumping right into what he wanted to discuss. "I gotta ask you something simply for the sake of eliminating all possibilities."

Water set to heat in the microwave, Squall turned and leaned against the countertop. He waited patiently to hear the gunman's question.

"Did you fool around with Seifer Almasy?" Irvine asked, his tone suggesting he already knew the answer.

Blanching, grey-blue eyes widened, a reaction Squall simply could not prevent.

Irvine's expression became that of shock in turn with the former commander's. "Squall, why?" he uttered in disbelief.

"I didn't consent to it," Squall impressed quickly, left arm wrapping around the small of his waist. Cheeks a rosy shade of embarrassed, he cast an uncomfortable gaze to the floor.

The sound of a fist banging on the kitchen table cut through the silence and startled Squall. Looking up, he met the narrowed eyes of the sharp shooter, violet-blue irises gleaming as if mere seconds away from pulling the trigger.

"I'll kill him," Irvine hissed.

"That's hardly necessary," Squall commented with a frown. He placed his back to the gunman when the microwave beeped.

"Did it just happen today?" Irvine questioned, wondering how long the brunet had been left to brood alone over such an unforgivable act.

Bowing his head, Squall mumbled something to the affect of an affirmative. Sighing, he said more clearly, "I'm not sure how it happened." It had all happened so fast, the ex-knight's lips against his before he could think to act. He'd been a fool not to see it, but how could he have known. He still didn't believe it.

Teeth grinding, Irvine repeated, "I'll kill him."

Glancing back at the gunman uncertainly, Squall pointed out, "When Cale did it, you were ecstatic."

Ready to declare that the ex-knight's death was a perfectly suitable punishment, Irvine closed his mouth before he could say as much. "Wait," he said in double taking confusion. "What?"

Lips pressing together firmly, Squall refused to repeat himself. Returning his attention to steeping tea, he willed the heat he felt on his face to go away. It was embarrassing enough to think about it, but far worse to talk about it.

Recalling what it was that the president's former secretary had done, Irvine questioned, "He kissed you?"

"Not so loud," Squall protested, fearing what might happen if Lore were to find out.

"That's it?" the gunman asked warily. "He didn't try to do anything else?"

"Of course not."

Slightly annoyed, Irvine left his seat and strode closer to the under reacting brunet. "What do you mean 'of course not'? If he kissed you against your will, then raping you isn't a giant leap away."

"Rape?" Squall hissed incredulously. "Hyne, I'm not that incapable." Just what was it that made his family and friends fear he'd be raped?

Brows lifting, Irvine pointed out, "But he managed to kiss you."

Glaring, Squall defended, "I was taken by surprise.

"I'll bet," Irvine agreed in agitation. Sidling close to the shorter man, he pressed for details, "What happened exactly?"

Loath to give a play by play of what had happened, Squall scowled.

"Darlin'," Irvine began, arm rising to encompass narrow shoulders gently. "You're not getting away until I know every gritty detail."

"Does it really matter?" Squall gazed into the gunman's eyes. He didn't know what to make of Seifer, or himself for that matter.

"It does to me," Irvine returned.

--

"Hey," Squall greeted, crouching down at the end of Cale's lane.

Breaking from his stroke abruptly, Cale dunked under the water and moved closer. Propping his arms on the small ledge bordering the pool, he gazed up at the pale beauty he could hardly believe he was dating. "Hey yourself," he returned.

Squall studied plastered white hair and dark red eyes. There was no question that the tall professor possessed handsome features, but he wondered if his attraction was strong as it should be.

"I thought you weren't scheduled to have your shoulder healed until this afternoon," Cale commented, observing the brunet's lack of sling.

"I got impatient," Squall explained, shifting carefully to remove his jacket. Dressed in a long sleeve grey shirt and black leather pants, the heated air was too much.

"Do you wanna swim a few laps and test your shoulder or should we get out of here?" Cale asked, running a hand through sopping hair and causing it to spike out.

"Kiss me," Squall said.

Eyes widening slightly, Cale just stared for several moments. "Now?"

"Now," Squall affirmed. Shifting to sit down, he proceeded to unlace his boots.

Cale swallowed thickly, not sure what to make of the brunet's actions.

Squall knew it was wrong, but he wanted to prove a point. He was far more turned on by Cale than Seifer, and though he was reluctant to make such a comparison, he felt guilty that his body reacted to the ex-knight in the first place.

"You'll get wet," Cale warned, wondering if such a fact had already been taken into account given the sudden lack of shoes.

"Don't care," Squall returned shortly.

Casting a cursory glance around to make sure they were indeed alone, Cale pushed up with his arms as his only support. Tentatively, he met the former commander's lips. Softly at first, he was surprised at the warm tongue that flicked out.

Pressing for firmer action, Squall ghosted his tongue along the professor's lower lip. Not certain he could explain what he wanted in words, he urged the younger man for more by wrapping his arms around bare shoulders. Leaning forward enough that he'd surely fall if not for the man in his way, he left himself open for some expression of need or demand.

Uncertain what the brunet was asking for, Cale only knew what his own body wanted and that it wasn't a good idea. Breaking away, he said, "Any more and I'll end up crossing the line."

Squall shivered at the concept of crossing the line, not entirely certain what it might mean. Boldly, with desperation to rid himself of any thoughts concerning a certain cocky bastard, he slid into the water.

"Squall," Cale began in surprise, backing away from the ledge to make room for the fully clothed brunet.

"It's been two weeks," Squall informed, vaguely recalling that it had been around that long since they'd started dating. "We've done nothing but kiss."

Treading water, Cale stared uncertainly. "I don't want to pressure you for anything if you're not ready."

Annoyed by such a caring mindset, Squall stated, "I'm not a child. If I don't want you to do something, I'll tell you."

Crimson eyes seemed taken aback for a moment.

Squall waited for the professor to do something, but grew impatient suddenly. Moving closer, he leaned up to kiss Cale again. At the feel of strong arms encircling him, he shivered. When he was pushed against the side of the pool, he made a quiet noise of approval.

Cale didn't know what to think as he cornered the wet clothed beauty, but when plush lips parted, it didn't matter.

Deepening the exchange, Squall felt an uneasy knot in the pit of his stomach. What he was doing was wrong, but he was afraid what would happen if he didn't. He was horrified that he'd encouraged Cale to behave more like Seifer, but it was too late.

TBC…

Author's Note: ) I hope you liked it


	20. Chapter 20

**Warning: **Yaoi action going on, so beware. It's not terribly explicit, but it could be classified as a lemon.

Defining Love

Chapter Twenty

Red pen scribbling in nearly illegible script, Cale made a quick note in the margin of a student's paper. Deciding that he'd had enough repetitive jargon that was simply a regurgitation of the textbook chapter, he set the paper aside and took a break.

Sighing, a hand rubbed weary crimson eyes. Glancing over his desk, he gazed adoringly at the one person who could take his plain clothes and make them the sexiest bits of fabric he'd ever seen.

Currently wearing an oversized white t-shirt and baggy sweatpants, Squall slept soundly on the couch in Cale's apartment. The brunet's clothes were in the dryer after being rinsed of the stale chlorine smell that clung so odorously after being drenched in pool water.

Deciding to use his break productively, Cale left his workspace and crept quietly to the bathroom, where the washer and dryer were stored in a closet. Though he was reluctant to have Squall change back, it was almost eleven and allowing the pretty man to continue sleeping would only incite annoyance.

Squall shot awake at the distant sound of the dryer's door being closed. Face flushed, he willed away the images in his head; terribly horrible images that depicted Seifer doing more than giving him a hickey. Covering his face with his hands after realizing where he was whilst dreaming such a dream, he hung his head in guilt and frustration.

Managing to settle down, Squall looked around for Cale. He could think of one way to forget, but he was already racking up bad boyfriend points for using the professor earlier that day.

"You're awake I see," Cale said as he left the bathroom with the brunet's clothes. Though washed of the chlorine scent, it did nothing to keep him from obsessively replaying what had happened in the pool. They'd kissed until the water had been the last thing to threaten to drown them.

Taking a steadying breath, Squall berated himself for being so weak. He didn't need to use Cale to forget about Seifer, he had enough willpower to do so on his own. Smiling subtly as the tall man approached, he accepted the warm bundle. Reminded of what he'd done earlier, he wondered if such actions should be apologized for or if that were just his guilt coming into play.

Unable to read the quiet man, Cale could only surmise that the brunet was troubled. "Is there something on your mind?" he questioned lightly.

Frowning, Squall decided he might better use Cale's help after all. Tugging at the already sinking collar, he slid the large shirt off his left shoulder. Running a hand over the curve of his collarbone, he requested, "Mark me here." He wasn't certain if anything would make him forget, but repeating the act with someone else might help to blur his minds eye and exchange one man's face for another.

Crimson eyes were not easily torn from the appetizing display of pale skin and strong yet elegant curvature along the former commander's neckline. "Are you unhappy about what happened before?" he asked, carrying mixed feelings about what had occurred beyond kissing in the pool.

Shaking his head, Squall affirmed once again that not consummating their relationship with sex was fine. Truthfully, he'd been relieved when Cale had withdrawn and not done more than simply bring him to climax with gruff fondling. He'd been seized by inexplicable fear at the intrusive touch against his entrance, never having been with a man before. Though he'd initially suspected that his sudden tensing had clued the professor in on his apprehensive reservations, he'd later learned that Cale had backed down for other reasons. The slightly traditional man had professed to wanting their first time together to be more than a quickie in a locker room.

Sitting down, Cale hesitantly fulfilled the smaller man's request. Leaning close, he softly kissed where Squall had indicated. "Would you be angry if I said you've been acting strangely?" he murmured, not looking up into stormy blue eyes.

"I know," Squall replied, entirely aware that he was letting one brief incident affect him more than it should.

Not knowing what more he could do except placate the reticent man's every whim, Cale slowly set about blemishing pale skin. In the back of his mind, he wondered how long until Lore showed up in an angry tirade for defiling his father.

--

It had been a whole six days since Squall had last heard from or seen Seifer. Ready to go out of his mind, he didn't understand the ex-knight at all. Had it been a joke? If not, why hadn't the man called or shown up? He just didn't understand.

Flustered, Squall drove out to the thirty-second district with intentions of resolving matters once and for all. If it had been some joke, he'd make certain the arrogant man understood just how humorless such actions truly were. If it had been done because the blond seriously liked, then he'd reject the man more civilly and without confusion.

Squall felt uneasy as he pulled up outside the red brick building that Seifer's apartment was in. While he could assume Seifer had given up after he'd stormed out of the man's apartment before, he knew the ex-knight too well to think that was the case. Perhaps it was unnecessary to show up in person, but he was too prideful to use a phone as though he was afraid of doing it in person. Not wanting to wait any long, he felt as though if he didn't make a move, Seifer would wind up at one of Lore's soccer games and make a spectacle.

--

Seifer yielded his aggressive pursuit for the sake of overall success in getting what he wanted. Considering he'd been flat out rejected, he wasn't playing hard to get, but giving Leonhart time to come around. He was obviously the better choice in every respect, even if the oblivious ice prince didn't see it.

There was something entirely gratifying in waiting for stubborn brunet to come to him, knowing that pretty little head was filled with thoughts of himself. It was about damn time he wasn't the only one obsessing. Unable to be certain of how big an impact he'd had, he was going to give Leonhart a couple more days to show up.

Lounging on his bed, he was halfheartedly flipping though the latest issue of Weapons Monthly when the object of his desires came knocking. Grinning broadly, it took quite a bit of effort for Seifer to stop smiling. Happier than he'd expected, he practically leapt off his bed.

Turning around quickly, he smoothed his hair back and scanned his apartment briefly. He'd forgone purchasing any furniture for the sake of luring Leonhart back in and conveniently getting the man into his bed. Checking his appearance as best he could in the window, he ascertained that there would be no missing his muscle definition in his white beater. Though, he had to wonder what level Leonhart's powers of observation were at when his attempts at seduction failed so miserably last time.

When the impatient brunet knocked again, Seifer strode across the small loft apartment to answer the unmistakable call. The sharp sound that came in no more than two raps was quietly demanding just like Leonhart was.

Opening the door, Seifer smirked and leaned his broad form against the frame of the door. "To what do I owe this pleasure?" he greeted smarmily.

Squall showed his appreciation for such an attitude with a glare. Crossing his arms, he questioned demandingly, "What are you planning?"

Jade green eyed were alight with amusement. "Planning?" Seifer repeated incredulously. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Squall opened his mouth to retort, but found himself silenced by the ex-knight's fingers. He was delayed in reacting, wishing he'd been quick enough to bite the digits off.

Lowering his hand, Seifer resisted the urge to touch soft lips again. He would be satisfied with shushing his former rival in a condescending manner. "Why don't you come in and we'll talk," he suggested civilly.

Eyeing the blond suspiciously, Squall debated his options. He didn't want to argue in the middle of a hallway where anyone could hear. "You won't touch me?" he questioned bluntly.

"I'll restrain myself," Seifer assured, his tone hardly convincing. Backing away from the door, he admitted the smaller man. He waited impatiently while a wary lion hesitated. At length he muttered, "I'm not going to rape you Leonhart, so get in here already."

Glaring harshly, Squall hissed, "I know." He was developing pet peeve about anything dealing with rape, even if mentioned in sarcastic jest.

"Well if you know it, why are you standing there like you're trying to protect your damn virginity?" Seifer remarked.

Angrily, Squall stalked inside the ex-knight's apartment. He wasn't sure of what to expect. An apology was out of the question when dealing with someone as ridiculously cocky as Seifer.

"What's on your mind?" the blond questioned amicably, knowing he'd touched a sore spot with the way stormy blue eyes narrowed. His confidence was boosted with the confirmation that he'd managed to accomplish what he wanted. Seducing the brunet had been such a disaster that he'd begun to think he wasn't as capable as he'd thought.

"Don't play dumb," Squall returned. "What was that about? There's a limit to joking around." He began to wonder what possible reason there was for trying to salvage his relationship with the ex-knight when it had never been very good.

Running a hand through golden blond hair, Seifer raked his eyes over the brunet's lithe form, which was sadly clad in baggy black jeans and concealing grey turtleneck. Checking the man out blatantly, he made certain to do so until pale cheeks heated in understanding of what he was doing.

Fidgeting uncomfortably, Squall crossed his arms. He suddenly felt terribly exposed. "Stop," he mumbled, staring at the floor in embarrassment. If there was one thing he couldn't take, it was being looked at under such a penetrating gaze. Those eyes had often looked at him in intense scrutiny, but it was far worse now that he suspected dirty thoughts were forming inside the blond's head.

Taking a deep breath, Seifer fought the urge to jump the innocent man. "I'm free to look, aren't I?" he protested.

"No," Squall replied, face flushing a shade darker.

"Stingy," Seifer complained, turning away for the sake of not attacking the man. Such reactions stirred him up and made him lose perspective. Walking to the small kitchen nook, he questioned, "Want a drink?"

Unable to keep up with such fluctuating moods, Squall pressed a cold hand to his cheeks. How could he let Seifer get to him so easily? "No," he answered belatedly. Glancing around, he tried to find a place that he might sit, but quickly realized nothing had changed since he'd last been there. Thinking back on how easily he'd just sat next to the blond on the same bed, he reflected on the mistake with newfound sensibility. He supposed there was really no more danger in sitting near the man on a bed than there was if they'd been seated elsewhere, but it certainly seemed like a more intimate setting.

Slipping into lost reverie, Squall tried for the millionth time to find some indicating factor that Seifer had been interested in him. It was something that was almost driving him as crazy as not being able to get the man's face out of his head. Years of rivalry and their more recent civil relationship held no red flags that he could think of.

Seifer returned with two bottles of water, which was basically all his fridge was stocked with. He rarely spent time in his apartment. It was more like a storage space. Frowning, he studied the pretty man's vacant expression. He understood why the son and best friend were so protective. That night out at the abandoned lot, he'd thought it was just general unawareness or undo trust. However, he now knew for certain just how naïve the brunet was to the true nature of the common man. "If you let your guard down, I will eat you up," he warned, half serious.

Starting in surprise, Squall regarded the ex-knight with a scowl. "Stop saying such weird things." Eat him up? What did that even mean?"

Rolling his eyes, Seifer nodded in momentary compliance. "Here," he said, holding a bottle out.

"I said-"

"I know what you said, I'm not deaf," Seifer interjected. "You look like you need it, so take it."

Refusing the offer, Squall walked away. Unable to go very far, he moved towards a nearby window and feigned interest in the back alley view.

If Seifer had known Leonhart was so weak against sexual advances, he'd have stared lewdly across the classroom every time grey-blue eyes looked his way. Excited to exploit the weakness that he'd spent half his life searching for, Seifer followed the pale man's trail. Towering from behind, he could tell his presence was suffocating the brunet. Reaching around, he pressed the drink against a firm chest. "Take it," he said, voice dropping a note.

Squall bit his lip hard to keep from losing his senses. Seifer was so close, he could practically feel the man pressing up against him. "Don't get so close," he bit out tersely.

Smirking, Seifer pointed out, "I wouldn't have to if you'd show some manners."

Snatching the bottle of water, Squall said, "There, now back off."

Backing away, Seifer stated, "Remember, you came to me."

Whirling around, Squall returned, "Because of what you did." Defensive of his position on coming there, he was losing his composure.

Chuckling, Seifer commented, "I don't think I've ever seen you this worked up."

Bottling up his frustrations, Squall settled down. Masking his annoyance, he questioned, "Was coming over all those times because of me?" Though he'd drawn his own conclusions without actually asking, he'd begun to warm up to the idea of Seifer being on good terms with Lore.

Studying effeminate features, Seifer answered honestly, "No."

"Then what?" Squall pressed, needing to understand.

Green eyes stared for a long moment. Even Seifer wasn't entirely certain what had changed, though he knew what had triggered his conscious self into realizing it. "I was jealous of that professor."

Beyond uncomfortable, Squall simply nodded his understanding even though he really didn't understand at all. Desperate to fill the silent void that came when the blond was apparently finished explained, he hastily twisted the cap off his drink.

"You feel something for me," Seifer stated deadpan.

Nearly spitting his mouthful of water out, Squall swallowed painfully. Valiantly hiding his shock and embarrassment, he simply stared. "Pity," he said quietly, hating how he could only think to attack with his words when Seifer had him in a corner. He didn't want the blond to know how he'd been consumed by a single kiss, even if it meant saying harsh and unwarranted words.

"Pity?" Seifer questioned with interest. He was far from pitiful and wondered if that was the best excuse Leonhart could come up with.

Gaze sharpening to match his words, Squall elaborated, "I feel pity for you if you're simply jealous of what another man has? You'll never be happy because such feelings are fleeting."

Mood darkening, Seifer jibed, "You sound hurt. Are you worried that I'll stop liking you once I've had you?"

Frowning, Squall asserted, "That's not what I meant."

"Hmm," Seifer intoned with dark amusement. "It sure seems like that."

Gritting his teeth, Squall battled his flustered emotions. Why couldn't he keep a level head? "Whatever," he mumbled, feigning disinterest.

Annoyed by Leonhart's continued ability to remain composed, if only barely, Seifer questioned, "So why are you really here?"

"I already told you," the brunet said, refusing to repeat himself.

"But that wasn't the truth," Seifer replied.

"…"

"You already know why I did what I did, and I think you can probably guess why I haven't been in contact with you since the," Seifer stated.

Shaking his head, Squall refuted, "I don't know."

Stepping closer, Seifer said more firmly, "You do."

Thinking to himself for a doubtful moment, Squall considered how all his thoughts had been taken over by one person. As each day had gone by, he'd obsessed more and more until he'd been compelled to come out and see Seifer under the pretense of fixing things. To think that his obsession had been planned by the ex-knight was too much.

Infuriated, Squall reacted before he could temper his unmanageable emotions. Punching the blond man gave him little relief, especially when he knew such an emotional reaction played right into the arrogant man's hands. Where had his perfected resistance to the blond's taunts gone?

Hand rubbing his jaw, Seifer smirked. "Worked up are we?" he muttered cynically. Straightening a bit, he stepped closer. "Tell me," he began, arms caging the smaller man in. "Could you even look that tool of yours in the eye? Did you wake up with my face in your head?"

Backed against the window, Squall glared up at the bullying blond.

"Well?" Seifer prompted.

"…" Squall just glared.

"I'm curious," Seifer began, moving a hand down slowly. "Did you think this shirt would stop me?"

Knocking the ex-knight's hand away, Squall attempted to move around the blocking man, intent on leaving. "I don't want to see you again."

"Do you think it's that easy?" Seifer questioned, drawing the brunet's undivided attention by flinging his water across the room.

Turning in surprise, Squall gazed at the blond with question in his eyes.

"Do you think I'll just let you walk away?" Seifer asked, voice rising in anger at being rejected again. This time he knew he'd gotten to the former commander. He knew he'd made some impression, which was all the encouragement he needed.

Wondering if the ex-knight intended to thrash around on the ground and throw a temper tantrum, Squall was stunned when the man suddenly came at him. Tackled, he collided with the hard floor. "Dammit," he cursed, head spinning after taking a hard hit.

"You wore this to provoke me," Seifer accused, tearing at the high collar.

"No," Squall protested, pushing at broad shoulders. He was somewhat frightened by how little he knew his former rival. The Seifer he thought he knew would not have acted in such a way. The young man he'd grown up with had limits and boundaries even if that cocky attitude made it seem otherwise.

Seifer grappled with evasive arms while trying to expose a slender neck. Squall tried to keep his cool while shoving at the man atop him, continually pulling assaulting hands away from his shirt.

Both men ceased their struggling abruptly.

Squall went stiff, knowing exactly what jade green eyes saw. Not knowing how the ex-knight would react, he hoped he wouldn't end up having to fight. Sparring was different from fighting, because it didn't involve emotion. He didn't like fighting when it played on his emotions so much, because he knew he'd end up hurt with more than physical wounds.

More pressing than what the blond was doing, Squall found his reactions to be the greatest cause for distress. What was it that drew him to Seifer? Why couldn't he forget what had happened? Why was his heart racing with anticipation?

"These aren't mine," Seifer observed aloud, eyes fixated on the fairly fresh kiss marks all along a pale collar and neck. Jealousy raging, he released the neck of the brunet's shirt and gripped narrow shoulders tightly. "You came here with these on you, hoping that I'd find them," he concluded angrily.

"Seifer, stop it," Squall ordered.

"You came here because you couldn't stop thinking about me," the blond persisted. "You knew I wanted you, and you came. You knew I was jealous, and you left these for me to find."

"I didn't," the former commander hissed, maneuvering his arm to the side and attempting to turn over and out of the blond' s hold.

"Stop being stubborn and just admit it," Seifer ordered, straddling the smaller man's form and using his weight to keep the brunet in place. He was not a patient man, nor was he reasonable when it came to something he wanted. His philosophy in life was to use any means necessary.

"Get off," Squall ordered, attempting to buck the ex-knight off.

Annoyed, Seifer pressed down harder, pinning slim hips. "Stop playing hard to get, you know you want me," he said with annoyance.

Grunting with effort, Squall resolved he'd have to fight the man to gain his freedom. "I'm impossible for you to get, you bastard," he hissed, jabbing at a tender kidney.

Hunching over, Seifer quickly grabbed offending arms. "I'm bigger and stronger," he taunted, binding bony wrists above the brunet's head.

Glaring, Squall squirmed around futilely. Arching up, he tried once more to buck the heavy weight off.

Gloating in dominance, Seifer skimmed a hand beneath the smaller man's shirt, his palm ghosting over a taught stomach of defined abs. It was firmer than a woman's, but if he recalled correctly, bowed lips were very soft. Taking his chances, he dipped low and captured plush lips.

Wide eyed, Squall stiffened. Body heating, he turned his head away. The hand at his stomach left and his jaw was gripped tightly. Scrunching his eyes, he willed his heart to stop beating so fast and for his kindling arousal to vanish.

Insistent, Seifer didn't relent despite the beating his ego was taking at the amount of force necessary.

Squall didn't know how it happened, but before he could think of turning his head away again, he was kissing Seifer back fiercely. No slight action, meshing lips and twining tongues were the result.

Groaning in satisfaction, Seifer quickly overcame his surprise. He never imagined Leonhart would taste so good. Blood rushed south, making him painstakingly aware of how turned on his rival was capable of making him. Releasing his bruising grip on the brunet's wrists, he let his hands roam elsewhere.

Arms freed, Squall's initial instinct was to fend the ex-knight off, but he couldn't seem to remember why he'd wanted freedom in the first place. He decided to bide his time battling the blond's tongue while trying to remember.

Anger abated, Seifer's jealousy and bruised ego were soothed at the restrained sound of enjoyment the brunet gave off. Lapping at slick licks, he broke away just in time to wring a clear note of pleasure from the man as he ground his pelvis down hard.

Dazed grey-blue eyes peeked from behind heavy lids, lacking the sharp awareness usually present. "Don't," Squall managed breathily, protesting the friction against his groin. He didn't want to become aroused, even if it felt good. He simply couldn't go against the distant part of his brain that knew it was wrong.

"Look at you," Seifer said huskily, greedily observing glossy eyes dazed with lust and flushed cheeks heated with growing arousal. It was such an honest reaction, even if it had taken a bit of force to bring it out. "You're so sensitive," he commented, able to see the man's nipples beneath the grey shirt.

Attempting to scowl, Squall failed when the blond suddenly pinched his nipples. He didn't understand why it felt good, only that it did.

Licking his lips, Seifer tweaked pert nubs, but grew annoyed by the feel of cotton. Slipping a hand beneath the brunet's shirt, he felt warm skin directly. Groping what would have been a breast if Leonhart had an X instead of a Y chromosome, he found his palm cupping nothing but firm muscle. He was mildly disappointed and uncertain what homosexual foreplay included. Settling on playing with a hard nipple, he found the resulting groan of pleasure satisfactory.

Head thrashing against the hard floor, the dulled pain of his bump barely registering, Squall tried to settle down. Hands grasping for some purchasing hold, he managed to do nothing but wrinkle the blond's sleeveless top.

As Seifer became increasingly erect, he realized that he wasn't the only one. He could feel the brunet's bulge from beneath. Feeling repulsion, he knew he couldn't simply have his jollies and leave the former commander unsatisfied. Though he was at a point where he'd usually stripped off all clothing, he decided to leave whatever barriers there were between his manhood and Leonhart's.

Seifer could accept that he wanted Leonhart, but he couldn't accept that the brunet was a man. Concluding that it probably wouldn't take much to get the sensitive man off, he pressed a thigh between the former commander's legs.

Closing his eyes tightly, Squall bit his lip and tried to keep silent as the ex-knight suddenly began rocking against him. He could feel the blond's solid manhood rubbing against his thigh.

Able to deal with bringing another man off if he received such reactions as Leonhart gave, Seifer continued to move atop his quarry, soon feeling nothing but his own pleasure.

All too soon, Squall was coming. Arching back, he barely registered that Seifer was sucking hard at his neck while continuing to rock against him. When the blond tensed atop him, he knew he wasn't the only one to climax.

Going limp, Squall lay on the floor while catching his breath. Reality was setting in, bringing remorse and shame. Like some horny teenager, he'd been unable to contain himself, even coming in his pants as though he hadn't had any control to hold back.

Satisfied, Seifer lazily found his way back to plush lips. Kissing the brunet again, he was taken by surprise when the man turned away and pushed him off.

"Get the hell away from me," Squall hissed, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. Horrified at what had just happened, he suppressed the turmoil he felt as it swelled up and stung his eyes with tears. He was such a mess.

"What's your problem?" Seifer returned angrily, continued rejection striking a chord in him.

Clutching the collar of his shirt, tugging it high to cover whatever the blond had done, Squall stalked away quickly. "You've gotten what you wanted, now stay away from me," he ordered heatedly, not looking back.

Seifer was in shock as the brunet left, door slamming loudly. Staring, he was bereft of understanding. Uncomfortable after making a mess in his pants, he decided to think after he cleaned himself up. If Leonhart thought that was the end of it, then the pale man was gravely mistaken.

TBC…

Author's Note: This chapter is really similar to 18 in a lot of ways, but I guess that's what makes it work. I didn't want everything to be entirely one sided on Seifer's part, so Squall showing up again after what happened before makes him take some blame/credit. It's been over a week since I last updated, and I'm sorry to say that it may become a pattern. Winter break is over and with most of my gen eds out of the way, the courses I'm taking this semester actually require my attendance. I'll be diligent though, so this story will definitely progress until it's finished.


	21. Chapter 21

Defining Love

Chapter Twenty-One

Irvine hadn't coincidentally wound up on assignment with Squall. Being from Trabia, the occasions that called for him to fulfill a contract for Balamb Garden were few and far between, especially when his expertise as a sharpshooter wasn't needed.

Meeting up with the verbally stunted brunet en route to Timber, Irvine felt his body's temperature drop under the icy gaze of grey-blue eyes. "Nice to see you too, darlin'," he drawled informally, entering the former commander's private room on the speeding train.

Squall stared for a long moment before turning back to the small group of SeeD seated around him. "Excuse me," he said, standing up and bringing the briefing to a halt.

Behind each serious face was untold curiosity. With rumor of an outside hand in the mission, the sight of the top ranked marksman in the world was almost unnerving.

Squall strode out of the private cabin, eyes fixed on the back of the cowboy's hat. He'd known the gunman would show up, but he couldn't fathom why and felt that it was out of line to bring in personal matters. It was entirely inappropriate to play the worried friend on a mission, but he assumed Irvine already knew that much.

Turning around with a boyish grin, violet-blue eyes leveled the pale man. "You might be asking yourself why I'm here," he began, giving the squad leader an assuring look. He knew where to draw the line between business and personal matters, even if he was on the mission for personal reasons.

Gazing sardonically, Squall crossed his arms and tilted his chin up to meet the gunman's line of sight. "Quite the mind reader," he commented sarcastically.

Making a point, Irvine reached out, stilling his hand when a surprisingly skittish brunet pulled back. "Easy," he drawled gently, underlying fears rising.

"Don't," Squall protested, grabbing an invasive hand when the gunman proceeded to pull at the collar of his high-necked shirt.

"Darlin'," Irvine said soothingly, staying his ground until the brunet relented to his harmless action. Hooking an index finger inside the collar, he pulled it down. "There's nothing," he commented, observing pale skin and feeling certain there were no marks anywhere to be found.

"I know," Squall mumbled, lightly knocking the gunman's hand away when the man was finally appeased.

Quirking a brow, Irvine inquired, "Then why are you wearing that shirt?"

Shrugging, Squall replied impassively, "It's just a shirt." A potion had easily removed Seifer's marks, along with Cale's. Though his throat wasn't covered in hickeys, his body recalled the touch quite well and he couldn't stop feeling as though the marks were still there.

Rolling his eyes, Irvine refuted, "If it were just a shirt, you wouldn't be so skittish."

"I'm not," Squall muttered, turning away and staring off out the window. Managing to keep his composure for several more moments, he finally gave in to the gunman's relentless gaze of suspicion. Sighing, he hung his head and leaned against the cold windowpane for support.

"Is it because of Ultimecia's lapdog?" Irvine questioned with distain.

Glancing sidelong, Squall mumbled, "When did you start holding that against him?"

Frowning, Irvine returned, "Since he mauled you."

"Nnn," Squall intoned in quiet agreement. He wondered if his relationship with Irvine was a curse or a blessing, or if it changed depending on the circumstance. Reading his emotions even when he didn't show any felt like a curse, but more often than not he felt relieved after talking with the gunman.

"Did that bastard do something else?" the gunman pressed.

"Something else," Squall murmured to himself in thought, recalling what that 'something' had been. "I did see him again," he offered in part confession.

"Alone?" Irvine asked calmly, ready to explode if the answer were affirmative.

"…" Squall gave a faint not, words lost on the meeting that he kept replaying in his head.

Taking his hat off and running a frustrated hand through long auburn hair, Irvine stalked away several steps before turning and pacing back. "This is exactly why I worry about you, walking right into such an unfavorable situation," he commented quietly for the mission leader's ears only. Bending the brim of his hat, he chastised, "That ass is on par with you combat. He's twice your size and itching to make some twisted conquest. Do you know what happens when a man like that can get a hold of you?"

Having a fairly good idea, Squall didn't respond to the gunman's voiced worry. There was no need to divulge what had happened in detail, at least not when it seemed quite clear the lanky shooter was thinking along the same lines of what had happened.

"Does Cale know you went to see him again?" Irvine questioned, not liking how easily the brunet's relationship could fall apart under the strain of competition.

"No," Squall said. He knew he should tell Cale, but wondered if it was necessary.

"It might not be a good idea to say anything," Irvine advised cautiously.

Having figured that much himself, Squall preferred to discuss something he wasn't so sure about. "I'm confused," he said, becoming confident that the gunman would be able to give him some clarity or perspective.

"Confused about what?" Irvine asked in a tone that implied there was nothing to be confused about.

"He seems serious," Squall stated, referring to Seifer's intentions. "And," he began hesitantly, not certain he could bring himself to speak the truth to another person.

"And what?" the auburn haired man prompted, not liking the direction the brunet was heading. When the former commander failed to speak further, he squeezed the man's shoulder and warned, "If for some insane reason you're harboring feelings for Seifer, just stop now."

Head whipping to stare at the gunman incredulously, Squall bit out, "I'm not."

"Then what are you confused about darlin'?" Irvine queried soothingly. "You've got a boyfriend who's head over heals for you and has Lore's approval." Not to mention he'd gone through some bit of trouble setting the whole thing up. Whether or not he was overstepping his boundaries, he'd known the reticent leader for too many years to stand idly by while a vibrant life was diminished to nothing but raising a child. He knew the importance of parenthood, but he also knew the importance of not being defined by it. Squall needed someone before Lore left, otherwise his emotionally repressed buddy would be devastated.

"That's not it," Squall said impassively. He knew the trouble that had gone into convincing Lore not to murder Cale. He also knew that it was a slightly cumbersome relationship when he was expected to make it work. He didn't love Cale, which wasn't a secret from anyone. His current dilemma had nothing to do with where his relationship with the college professor was going. "It's different with Seifer."

Frowning, Irvine sidled close, arm brushing up against the shorter man's as he mimicked the cloistered stance against the window. "What's different?"

Clearing his throat and ignoring the heat he felt creep to his face, Squall confided, "When he touches me."

Silent for a long while, Irvine eventually gathered enough courage to ask, "Did you sleep with him this time?" The chaste brunet was no inexperienced virgin, but considering the pale man only ever let himself go once in a blue moon, sex meant there was some sort of serious investment.

"Not exactly," Squall replied succinctly, having anticipated the question.

"Does this _**not exactly** _involve him forcing you again?" Irvine questioned in a near growl.

"…" Squall wasn't certain how much to say on the matter. He knew how the gunman would react. It had only been a few days prior that Irvine had become trigger-happy over a small hickey, so he could imagine what happened if his close friend were privy to how far Seifer had taken things.

"What did he do to you?" Irvine hissed, ready to ram Exeter down the ex-knight's throat.

"It's a shared fault," Squall informed, Seifer's heated accusations echoing in his head. "I sought him out, I knew the circumstances."

Jaw clenching, Irvine hissed, "That excuses nothing."

With an air of indifference, Squall murmured in disagreement, "It does." Stormy blue eyes glanced outside at the blurred tree line. "He was right," he stated, recalling what the ex-knight had said to him. Even if he hadn't intentionally asked for it, the way his body reacted was obviously how he truly felt and he'd gone back knowing that much.

Greatly troubled, Irvine took hold of the brunet's shoulders and directed the man to face him. "Squall," he said firmly, "what you feel is lust."

"Lust?" Squall questioned incredulously. To think that he could possibly feel lust for Seifer Almasy was the most insane notion he'd ever heard. Yet, the insanity began when the ex-knight had confessed and kissed him last week. If he felt lust for the man, then he wasn't the only insane person involved.

Nodding, Irvine asserted, "Don't confuse lust with your real feelings. You might lust after someone, but Cale is who you really want."

Numb to the idea of lusting after anyone, Squall wasn't able to process it right away. His childhood rival still annoyed him to no end, but when Seifer touched him it was like fire. What had changed? The blond had touched him many times before, though never in a sexual manner.

"Squall, tell me you won't see him again," Irvine insisted.

Frowning, Squall sent the gunman a cool glared. "I'm not a child. I'll see who I want," he stated. Even if he wanted to, he doubted he could avoid the ex-knight forever.

Violet-blue eyes seemed to plead for a different answer. "I've never treated you like a child," the gunman declared. "I've only ever wanted what was best for you, and right now I'm telling you as someone who knows more about these things than you, this asshole is toying with you."

"…" Squall didn't know why he was so worked up about it. He'd already rejected the ex-knight clearly, so what did he expect to happen by further analyzing matters?

At the sound of the cabin door sliding open, Squall and Irvine broke away from the window and each other. It was no secret that they were friends, but in front of subordinates, there was a limit to how chummy they could act.

"Captain," a female SeeD called out, finding their squad leader quicker than expected.

"We're coming," Irvine drawled, smiling until the young woman blushed.

--

Lore was in high spirits as he left school. It was Friday and midterms were over. Soccer practice resumed the following day and even though it meant getting up early on a weekend, he was restless to get back on the field and forget that textbooks even existed.

Loosing his necktie and undoing the first button of his shirt, the dark haired youth trotted down the stairs of the Mercy High School's main entrance. Keys jangling as they dangled from a chain on his pant's belt loop, he was looking forward to returning home and seeing his father for the first time in two days.

Weather permitting, he wasn't even wearing his blazer and had left his jacket in the backseat of his car after mistakenly thinking he'd need it. It was finally more like spring, even if the mornings were still quite frigid.

Blue-green eyes scanned the student parking lot, mostly swimming with seniors and juniors and the occasional sophomore like himself. Stopping in his tracks abruptly, his eyes sharpened at the sight of golden blond hair.

Frowning, Lore wondered what the ex-knight was doing at his school. Better yet, why didn't anyone seem to care that the man was there. It was like there was an invisible bubble around the intimidating blond, preventing any students from coming closer than ten feet. Even if the parking lot were technically public property, it was reserved for students, not for ex-mercenaries who tried to take over the world to loiter in.

Seifer leaned against an eye-catching vehicle he knew belonged to Leonhart's kid. After his last encounter with the former commander, he decided he needed a change of tactics. He could have guessed it from the beginning, but hadn't planned on becoming so serious in wooing his reticent quarry. If he wanted to get Leonhart, he needed to get the son first. There was no doubting that Leonhart had a complex for the boy.

"What do you want?" Lore bit out in greeting, knowing very well who had injured his father's shoulder. Approaching cautiously, he stood several feet away with his keys in hand and backpack draping down to his elbow.

"I want to talk," Seifer said smoothly, the fact that he'd obviously been waiting made his poor excuse true, if only for the fact that he'd had time come up with something significantly more believable.

"So talk," Lore said, not certain what they could possibly discuss that would interest him.

"Let's go somewhere more suitable," Seifer suggested as amicably as he could manage. Standing tall, he moved away from the driver side door and permitted access without having to be asked.

"You're serious?" Lore questioned uncertainly. He received an answer when the ex-knight moved to the other side of the car and waited to be let in. Scoffing, he debated the evils of conceding to the arrogant man's wishes. "Where's your car? I'm not going to run you around the city at your convenience."

Holding back a retort, Seifer simply informed, "I'm capable of getting where I want to go without help. Don't worry about where my car is or how I'll get home."

Glaring unduly, Lore felt inclined to putting the blond's words to the test. Perhaps he'd drive out to the middle of nowhere and strand the man. Knowing such a thing would be near impossible to accomplish, he unlocked the car. Still wary about what the blond wanted, he knew he probably didn't have much of a choice unless he felt like causing a scene in front of everyone. Sighing in defeat, he muttered, "Get in then."

--

"I still don't understand why I can't try using a gunblade," Lore complained as he gave a testing spin to his quarterstaff.

Rolling his eyes, Seifer said bluntly, "Because you'd kill yourself."

Giving the ex-knight a heated glare, Lore informed, "I've handled one before." He wasn't entirely without training. For the sake of enrolling in garden at a late age, he already knew the basics that mercenaries learned when young.

Barking with laughter, Seifer returned, "Cleaning your daddy's gunblades doesn't count." At the feisty glare, he redirected, "Let's see where you're at."

Frowning, Lore tried to remember the last time he'd practiced anything but soccer. "It's been a while," he warned, suddenly uncertain about showing his skill level in front of someone on par with his father.

--

As Lore drove home, he found himself entirely confounded by the time he'd spent with Seifer. The disturbing truth was that he'd actually enjoyed practicing with the arrogant bastard. Though he was far from liking the ex-knight, he wasn't going to classify the man as pure evil just yet.

Pushing aside the negative, he focused on what he'd been looking forward to all day. His father would be home. For as long as he could remember, such occasions were always a cause for celebration. When he'd been younger, the days that his father had been away on missions had almost been unbearable. The time never went by fast enough, no matter how much his grandfather tried to keep him busy. Back then, he'd have taken a day at Griever's fountain with his dad over just about anything.

--

"Dad," Lore exclaimed excitedly, zoning in on his father's location after haphazardly dropping his coat and bag at the entrance.

Though Squall had only been gone for a couple days, it was always nice to be greeted so warmly. He felt an odd sense of sadness as his son embraced him, far from the small boy that ran to him with sleep disheveled pajamas. "How were midterms?" he questioned, knowing that had been the youth's most problematic issue for the past two weeks.

Groaning, Lore protested, "Let me forget."

Ruffling dark hair, Squall agreed, "Okay." Pulling away, he gestured across the room where Irvine leaned casually against the countertop. "Your uncle's here," he informed, knowing the boy had completely overlooked the gunman.

"Hey," Lore greeted, walking over to the man. "Were you on assignment with Dad?"

Irvine gave a mock pout at the less enthusiastic welcome. Yanking his nephew in for a hug when the boy came close enough, he declared, "Tyler says he's too old for cuddling with his papa. I'm so lonely."

"Get off," Lore said, laughing good naturedly when the gunman persisted in fooling around. "Cuddle with your wife," he suggested, jabbing the man lightly in the gut to escape.

"Did you have practice?" Squall questioned, sitting back down at the round table. He'd been absently typing a rough draft of his report on the mission while listening to Irvine berate him for being receptive to Seifer's advances. He'd had his earful for the entirety of the mission in Timber, and he suspected the gunman had followed him home to make certain he didn't see the ex-knight. He had decided to forget all about it, having already rejected the pushy blond clearly.

Growing solemn abruptly, Lore cast a cautious gaze toward his father before saying, "Seifer came to see me."

Stormy blue eyes widened. Fingers frozen, posed above the keys, Squall felt his heart beating in his throat. "Came to see you?" he questioned in a quiet voice, apprehensive about what the ex-knight was scheming. He'd kill the arrogant man if Lore were dragged into it as collateral.

"Yeah," Lore began, detecting that it was a sensitive issue. "He just wanted to talk. We ended up at that training center of his."

Squall shared an uncertain gaze with Irvine. Shaking his head subtly, he directed the gunman to leave the matter alone. Despite what his better sense was telling him, he couldn't help but wonder if perhaps the ex-knight had simply been too stubborn to admit wanting to know his son a bit more. Whatever the blond was after, it seemed too low for the man's standards to use Lore as a tool.

"Dad…" Lore began, feeling rather hypocritical after everything he'd said and done since learning the whole truth of his lineage. How he'd felt the night of his birthday was the same. He didn't need another father. He already had the only person he'd ever want in his life. Seifer Almasy meant nothing to him. "Today, it's not that I like him or anything." Though it was true that the aggravating blond had been mildly less irritating that day, it didn't erase past transgressions.

Shaking his head, Squall swallowed his simmering parental pride. The only thing he needed to worry about was the ex-knight's motivations. He would have to make it crystal clear that using his son was a dangerous move in whatever game the man was playing. For some insane reason, he was still smitten with the idea that his former rival was progressively warming up to having a son. Though such a suspicion meandered into the realm of madness, so did the lust his body felt for the man.

"You don't need to shun him for any reason," Squall spoke softly, ignoring the narrowed gaze of violet-blue eyes.

"Yeah," Lore agreed hesitantly. "But…" It just didn't seem right. The first time he'd met Seifer Almasy, he'd despised the man so completely. There hadn't been a moment's rest of boiling rage in the man's presence, which made him feel immature and upset. Even if such emotions had cooled off, he wasn't entirely capable of handling the offhanded insults that the ex-knight slipped into casual conversation.

"First impressions aren't always accurate," Squall reasoned, supplying the boy with an excuse. He could already tell that Lore was confused, which meant his son wasn't as seriously opposed to the ex-knight's presence as before. "If you think you want to know him better, that's fine so long as you don't expect anything in return."

It was all Irvine could do to keep his jaw from hitting the floor. "Maybe he should get to know Cale as well," he suggested with underlying annoyance.

Staring coolly at the gunman, Squall warned the man silently. "Cale's not his father," he said evenly.

Jaw clenching, Irvine shot back, "Neither is that bastard."

"What's going on?" Lore demanded, glancing back and forth between his father and uncle. "Did something happen?"

"…" Squall loathed lying to his son and resented the gunman for putting him in a situation that forced him to do so.

"No," Irvine answered before the honest brunet had to lie. "I guess I'm just surprised you were hanging out with Seifer. I worry too."

"It's not like we're friends or anything," Lore declared defensively. "I don't really know. One second I was angry just looking at him and the next thing I knew, he was showing me how to use a quarterstaff."

With a wry smile, Squall assured, "It's fine." He knew very well that Seifer was capable of be just as much a good guy as a bad guy. The power hungry blond wasn't a natural born leader because he knew how to piss people off. When the ostentatious man wanted to, he could be very compelling and fetching.

Lore studied the youthful features of his father's face. "You don't look like it's fine," he declared, concluding that something was going on.

Silence filled the room. Irvine gazed intently at Squall, not keen on the idea of bringing Lore into matters. "Is Cale coming for dinner?" he asked in a change of subject.

Struck by the blatant attempt to keep him out of the loop, Lore stared incredulously at his uncle. "Real smooth Uncle Irvine," he muttered, stalking away and leaving the kitchen. He'd find out from his father later.

Closing his laptop, Squall leaned back in his seat and sighed. There was a line that needed to be drawn somewhere, but he didn't like the idea of shutting Lore out of his affairs.

Striding across the room, Irvine pulled a chair out from the table and sat near the brunet. "Now he's using Lore," he whispered with alarm.

Staring resolutely at the tabletop, Squall said as impassively as he could, "Then I suppose I should just sleep with him and get it over with."

Certain he'd heard wrong, Irvine cleared his throat before requesting, "Say that again."

Shrugging, Squall gave a faint teasing smile to lead the gunman on. "It might be nice, just once."

Taken aback, Irvine leaned closer and stared pleadingly into stormy blue eyes. "Hyne Squall, tell me you're joking."

Eyes rolling, Squall replied, "I'm joking."

Exhaling a long breath, Irvine dropped his head to the table. Groaning, he complained, "You're killing me."

"Good," Squall mumbled, standing up. Patting the man on the back briefly, he elaborated, "Maybe this will teach you that some things are best left alone."

Lolling his head to the side, Irvine watched the lithe form disappear from the kitchen. He was seventy percent certain that Squall's feelings were derived from the force the ex-knight had used. He hadn't taken the discreet man as a sadist, but it wasn't entirely surprising after suppressing the physical need for gratification.

Running a hand through his hair, Irvine wondered if his wife was rubbing off on him. He wasn't usually so concerned with the affairs of other people. But, Squall was like a brother to him.

Concluding that he'd been harping at the wrong person, Irvine decided to pay the ex-knight a visit.

TBC…

Author's Note: Gah! It's been forever and a day since I updated. Holy crap, like three weeks. I'm sorry it's been so long. I hate not being able to write as much as usual. My weekend looks pretty uneventful, so I'm hoping to get a lot written then. The only promise I can make is that the story will be completed. I have a pet peeve about starting something and not finishing it.


	22. Chapter 22

Defining Love

Chapter Twenty-Two

"Dad," Lore called again, shaking his father's shoulder.

Bolting upright, Squall was seized with worried attentiveness. "What's wrong?" he asked, glancing around to find his bearings. After Irvine had left, he'd gone to his bedroom to rest for a bit, but hadn't counted on actually falling asleep.

Frowning, Lore answered, "Nothing. I knocked and called, but you didn't wake up."

Taking a moment to let the situation set in, Squall relaxed a bit. Running a hand through messed strands of lengthy brown hair, he muttered, "Sorry." There was a fleeting feeling of frustration, but it passed quickly.

"Are you sick?" Lore questioned with increasing concern.

Shaking his head, Squall wondered briefly why he'd fallen asleep so deeply. It wasn't unusual for him to feel particularly worn out after a mission. His time of day was thrown off and it was difficult to fall asleep away from home, so he usually returned sleep deprived. "I was tired," he excused. While falling asleep wasn't anything to apologize for, it wasn't often that he was caught off guard.

Figuring that his father hadn't slept much the last couple of days, Lore let it go. "Grandpa's here," he informed.

Nodding faintly, Squall acknowledged Laguna's arrival. Irvine had left for Trabia a little while ago and the president was joining them for dinner. It was pizza night, but he couldn't remember if they'd agreed to order in or go out.

Standing for a long moment, Lore hesitated in leaving. "Dad," he began in an almost cautious tone. "Before, what was Uncle Irvine upset about?"

Blinking until his eyes reluctantly promised to stay open, Squall contemplated what to tell Lore. "Your uncle has never liked Seifer," he said impassively.

"Yeah, but he couldn't have always been that touchy about it," Lore disputed, replaying how the entire topic had been blatantly shunned.

Shrugging, Squall asked, "How often have you mentioned Seifer in front of him?"

Recalling very few instances where discussions with his uncle had included the ex-knight, Lore was unable to deny his father's sensibility. Nonetheless, as someone who knew every subtle nuance to the reticent man's moods, he knew there was something going on. Staring solemnly into unreadable stormy blue eyes, he asked, "Did something happen?"

Gazing back unwaveringly, Squall knew what words he would end up speaking, but didn't say them right away. "Between Seifer and myself," he answered vaguely, futilely trying to write it off as nothing.

"Should I be sitting down for this?" Lore queried, only half joking. He was having a frustratingly difficult time gauging his father's emotions. Usually the indifference the man portrayed was simply an innate calmness that was easy to look past with a trained eye. As tried to see beyond the guarded coolness he became lost.

Squall had yet to find the delicate phrasing such a topic required. There was no sugar coating the fact that he'd made out with Seifer, but he hadn't needed to hide the gritty details from Irvine, so he hadn't thought of a better way of saying it. Though he was desensitized to embarrassment after two days of Irvine telling him that he was lusting after the ex-knight, he was still very much ashamed. "Seifer expressed certain feelings for me," he stated quietly, hoping the young man understood his meaning.

Filled with tumultuous emotions, Lore took a moment to gather the many questions in his head. Not caring if he was impeding anyone's future happiness by rigorously screening the people allowed near, he'd never allow Seifer Almasy the high level access required to wine and dine his father. "You told him to fuck off, right?" he questioned angrily, suddenly understanding why the ex-knight had come to see him at school.

Taken aback by how Seifer-like his son's words were, Squall didn't immediately register the question. Stumbling over the proper classification of what he'd done, which hadn't exactly been pure rejection of the ex-knight's advances, he decided to pretend like his most recent visit to the blond's apartment simply hadn't happened. "Essentially," he said in short agreement.

"Sorry," the youth mumbled quickly, disapproving of his choice in words. "I just, I don't know. I feel like an idiot for not seeing it."

Sitting on the edge of his bed, Squall wallowed in the shared feeling of obliviousness. He didn't understand how he'd not known sooner. "It's a relatively recent development," he assured, not wanting his son to feel as though not noticing had been some failure.

Rolling his eyes, Lore sat down next to his father, jostling the bed slightly. Scoffing, he muttered, "Since he moved here." He hadn't taken the ex-knight's perverted taunting lightly, but he also hadn't taken it seriously. No matter how angry the annoying blond had made him, he'd trusted his father's judgment in considering it superficial teasing.

Not commenting, Squall didn't want to spare the topic more time than necessary. "If your grandfather's here, we should eat soon," he suggested.

Frowning, Lore was confused when his father stood up as though there wasn't anything more to discuss. "That's it?" he questioned incredulously.

Shaking lengthy bangs out of his eyes, Squall gazed at his son thoughtfully. "What else is there?" he returned in question.

"Dad," Lore said expectantly. "Even though I barely know the guy, I'm positive he isn't the type of person to just walk away. What did he say when you turned him down?"

Shifting in place, Squall leaned to the side and crossed his arms. He didn't like where his son's line of questioning was going. It was a perfectly legitimate thing to ask, but he really would end up lying to the boy if it became a matter of concealing the exact details of the ex-knight's confession. "It doesn't matter," he dismissed firmly, resolving to skirt the topic and make it clear he didn't want to talk about it.

Feeling rebuked, Lore didn't press any further. He felt like his world was turning upside down. His father was dating another man, which he'd thought would have been the greatest of his troubles. There was a rift forming between them and he hated it. His father never kept secrets from him. He felt like he was no longer welcome in certain parts of the man's life, which was a heavy disappointment that he didn't even feel like he had any right to complain about. He wanted to say something, but he suspected it was only the natural order in parent and offspring relationships.

Squall couldn't take the pained look in blue-green eyes. Considering the subject closed, he left the room with a heavy heart.

--

Watching the sharp-eyed gunman's approach, Seifer wondered how easily the lanky man could get away with his murder. Feeling rather nostalgic, he calmly reminisced over a previous time Leonhart's guard dog had come to bark at his heels. The last time he'd been run out of town, it had been for a slightly different reason, but the general theme of his unwanted presence remained the same.

"Almasy," Irvine spoke lowly, glancing around the construction site with distain. The half erected stadium was vacant. He'd caught sight of the last crewman leaving after a good two hours of overtime. Ensured privacy, he was free to do whatever he wanted.

"Greetings," Seifer said smarmily with a playful smirk. He'd already had a few goes at Leonhart, which meant he was dealing with failed guard dog that was likely to be twice as vicious.

Standing tall, height rivaling the ex-knight's, Irvine ordered, "Stay the hell away from Squall."

Smirk widening, Seifer questioned innocently, "Now why would I do that?"

"Cut the bullshit, you bastard," the gunman hissed angrily, hand twitching for his weapon. He'd foreseen trouble with the instigative blond and had chosen to leave his guns in the car.

Lips forming a straight line, Seifer's expression sobered. "I'm allowed to want him," he stated. He was slightly disappointed that Leonhart hadn't been the one to confront him. He had a strong desire to kiss the stubborn brunet again.

"Look but don't touch," Irvine advised venomously.

Brows rising subtly, Seifer pointed out, "Squally-boy certainly wasn't complaining while I was touching him. Why don't you let him choose between me and that prick you set him up with?"

"He's already chosen," Irvine hissed in annoyance.

Scoffing, Seifer folded his arms. "Be fair now cowboy," he chastised. "Leonhart chose who you wanted him to. Between you and the brat, you've been making all the decisions."

Jaw clenching and unclenching, Irvine was struck with an uneasy feeling that the ground he stood on wasn't quite as solid as he'd like to think. He'd certainly pushed Squall in the right direction, but that was hardly making choices for the reserved fighter. "Cale won't hurt Squall," he declared, not quite as certain of that fact as he sounded. Weighing the options, it was clear to see who would take better care of his close friend. "This is just some twisted conquest for you."

"Possibly," Seifer agreed, almost laughing at the way violet-blue eyes narrowed suspiciously. It was obvious that his feelings were fairly shallow, even he'd admit as much. "I know what I want, and it's Leonhart. If it gets old fast, I doubt he'll be shedding any tears at my expense."

Irvine forced himself to calm down a bit. He could see it more clearly now. He didn't consider himself an expert on what went through the ex-knight's mind, but he could make a few guesses based on his general understanding of the man's possessive and domineering personality. "You're wrong," he informed levelly, adjusting his hat. "If Squall became involved with you, he'd become attached." Regardless how much the rivals had fought as cadets, if Squall were willing to sleep with someone then the emotionless ice prince would develop feelings. That was part of what made the former commander so innocent, unable to separate the physical from everything else.

Laughing, Seifer tried to picture Leonhart becoming attached to anyone. "Hyne Kinneas, are we talking about the same person?" That wasn't true. He could easily imagine the current version of his rival becoming attached. He'd witnessed the drastic changes first hand, watching the doting father coddle his kid. If he recalled correctly, there had been an instance where he'd thought the cowboy was suspiciously intimate.

"It's not funny," Irvine bit out angrily. "What you're doing is not some game. Quit trying to mess with him just to prove you can."

"I've never needed to prove anything," Seifer returned. "If you want me to say he's special to me, I won't. I think the fact that I'm going after another man in the first place is enough to prove I'm less shallow than you think."

Eyes widening, Irvine came to the abrupt realization that the ex-knight wasn't even gay. "You're not gay?" he questioned dumbly.

"That's some gaydar you've got there," Seifer quipped snidely, insulted that anyone would think he was gay. He didn't want Leonhart because he liked dick.

"This is bad," Irvine mumbled to himself, taking his hat off in frustration. There was a determination in jade-green eyes that was almost frightening, yet the ex-knight could not possibly harbor a flicker of caring emotion for Squall. For the discreet brunet to be lusting after someone was bad enough, but Seifer Almasy was the worst sort of person to become involved with. "What ego trip are you on? Just because he was pregnant that doesn't make him a woman."

Lips twitching slightly, Seifer informed, "I've already determined that much for myself."

Sorely tempted to put a few shots in the ex-knight's kneecaps, Irvine wasn't entirely grateful that he'd thought to confront the blond unarmed. "I'm not forcing Squall's hand, but I have told him that staying away from you is a good idea." There was apparently no talking the ex-knight down, which meant tightening security on Squall's end.

Green eyes narrowed. "I'm not asking for permission cowboy. Stay out of my way."

"Do you honestly think I won't do everything in my power to keep Squall safe from an egomaniac like you?" Irvine shot back, cutting the air with his hat in a heated gesture.

"From what I hear, you're not exactly local. You can't be at his side all the time. I'll have my chances," Seifer declared in a threatening manner.

Pushed towards the edge, Irvine tempered himself with every ounce of self-restraint he had. "I'll become your worst enemy if you go near him again," he warned.

Barking with laughter, Seifer found the notion amusing. "He's a big boy. If you smother him, he'll resent you one day."

Glaring fiercely, Irvine wondered how he could possibly reside in Esthar often enough to make certain Squall wasn't left alone. He could always count on Lore to help, but the sixteen year old wasn't trained properly and he doubted Squall would appreciate any help.

Quite certain there would be no winning the gunman's support within any lifetime, Seifer simply ran with the bad boy image he would undoubtedly continue to be painted with throughout history. "I've known him for all my life and haven't gotten bored with him yet. If we only ever fuck a few times, then it's a few good fucks. The way I see it, no matter how bad things turn out, it's been worse between us before."

"Almasy," Irvine began, not knowing how else to impress his standing. "Have you seriously considered the consequences? If you hurt Squall, there won't be a place in Esthar you can run to. The president will hunt you down like a dog, and then I'll take care of you."

"We'll see," Seifer commented, eyes alight at the issue of a challenge. He'd missed such confrontations while out at sea.

Chuckling at the surreal predicament, Irvine decided he was done with words. Throwing the first punch, he estimated he had about five punches for every transgression the ex-knight had made.

Seifer couldn't help but grin even though it stung. Lip split, he licked the blood away and stood straight. "That wasn't very diplomatic of you cowboy," he chastised, throwing a swing of his own.

Stunned, Irvine realized he shouldn't have tried to take it. Managing to keep his balance, he stumbled until his vision cleared. The ex-knight was insanely strong, something he hadn't considered. Worst of all, he suspected the hit had only been a fraction of the man's power, which was why his jaw wasn't broken.

"What's wrong?" Seifer jibed condescendingly. "This is what happens when all you do is pull a trigger from a safe distance. You have no defense."

Violet-blue eyes glared. Tossing his hat aside, Irvine prepared himself for the ensuing fight. No one messed with Squall without facing consequences and he'd be damned if brute strength was enough to take him down.

--

Squall sat quietly in his own little world while waiting for Cale to arrive. In Lexis Café, where he'd usually spent his time with the white haired professor even before they'd begun dating, he brooded over recent events while sipping coffee. It was mid afternoon, and despite the sunny weather, he preferred to observe the day outside from indoors.

It had taken him a while to come to the conclusion that he should tell Cale what had happened between him and Seifer. Although it seemed unnecessary and he'd been advised not to, it felt dishonest to say nothing. He didn't need the matter weighing on his conscience.

Knowing the most truthful words would be the ones he didn't try to come up before hand, Squall still found his mind running through various ways to explain what had happened. He loathed pointing fingers, but how could he possibly recount anything without admitting the pleasure he'd received. He couldn't lay the blame on Seifer entirely. It was a betrayal on his part. With latent guilt, he was steadily feeling worse with each passing moment.

Somehow, it just felt like Hyne was working against him. He hadn't been romantically involved with anyone for years, now he was suddenly involved with one man while obsessing over another. One event had supposedly triggered the other, but his body didn't seem to care that Seifer's feeling amounted to little more than jealousy.

Disheartened, Squall stared out the café's window at the steady stream of moving bodies. Glancing down at pale hands, he studied the white cuff of his shirtsleeve. Touching the collar of the red t-shirt layered over the white shirt beneath, he fingered the black scarf wrapped around his neck. There was nothing to hide, but he couldn't shake the urge to cover his neckline.

Noticing the arrival of the tall professor out of the corner of his eye, Squall lowered his hand swiftly. Taking a sip of his coffee, he gazed coolly out the window, collecting his thoughts one last time.

"Hey," Cale greeted warmly, shrugging out of his long trench coat. Wearing black slacks and a burgundy colored dress shirt, he was overdressed for their plans to just hang out. Bending low, he kissed soft lips briefly before taking a seat across from the composed beauty.

Stormy blue eyes fell to the tabletop, unable to meet the crimson gaze of his devoted partner. He felt laden with guilt suddenly.

"Sorry I'm late. My lecture ran a little long," the islander apologized, checking his watch to see how long he'd kept the brunet waiting. Frowning, he realized he wasn't really late at all. "Did you get here early?" he questioned, knowing he'd taken longer than usual.

Squall nodded. He'd gotten there early so he could take some time to contemplate his choice of action. "I need to tell you something," he murmured quietly, hands cupping the base of his coffee mug to steal some warmth.

Studying effeminate features, Cale tried to determine what the former commander was referring to. A doubtful part of him feared that the brunet was going to break up things off, but he felt it was prudent to place a bit more faith in their relationship. "Sure," he replied, willing to listen to anything Squall had to say.

Using silence to impress the severity of his words, Squall waited a moment before saying, "I was with someone else."

There was a long pause as Cale was drawn back to reality. Leaving behind his study of how the sunlight came in from the window to brighten mesmerizing grey-blue eyes, the brunet's meaning slowly sunk in. "What?" he questioned uncertainly, not confident he was interpreting correctly.

"…" Squall was uncomfortable phrasing it any other way. He felt like he was a cadet again, overhearing a sympathetic group of friends listen to how someone had a cheating boyfriend.

Swallowing dryly, Cale found his mouth working faster than his brain. "You slept with someone else?"

Shaking his head, Squall murmured, "Things got out of hand, but I never slept with him."

Running a hand through silver-white hair, Cale tried to rid himself of the hurtful images his mind kept drawing. Knowing it would only serve to make his mind more unsettled, he asked, "Who was it?"

Hesitating, Squall stared into crimson eyes, trying to determine if the man truly wanted to know. "Seifer," he answered evenly.

Somehow, Cale had known who it was going to be. "Were you confused?" he asked, not seeing how the rejection aspect hadn't come before everything else. Having considered the transitional period in their relationship over with, he'd assumed they were officially dating and not just carrying on as friends who fondled each other. It was surprising that Squall was confused about dating him. More than surprising, it left a bitter lump in the pit of his stomach.

Confused was an understatement. Squall had been baffled and confounded by Seifer's confession. "Yes," he replied, wondering what sort of reaction he should expect.

Bowing his head, Cale took several moments to let it all set in. He wasn't sure what he'd been hoping for in his relationship with Squall. It was painfully obvious that the brunet was not in love with him and no matter how much his feelings grew it could never substitute any requited love. He wasn't angry, but the bitterness he felt grew at the thought of Squall with someone else. "I guess I should have expected this," he muttered dejectedly, hand rubbing his forehead. "We were exclusive though, right?" he asked imploringly, eyes rising to search stormy blue orbs. Even if their relationship was unevenly balanced, he'd been under the impression that dating other people was still a faux pas.

"I'm sorry," Squall said, knowing there had to be an apology involved at some point.

Reaching across the small square table, Cale took a pale hand. "You asked me not to idolize you or walk on eggshells," he reminded, instilling some warmth into cold fingers. "I'm having a hard time believing you really want to be with me," he said, crimson eyes requesting the truth. "I'm in love with you. Do you feel anything for me?"

"I turned Seifer down," Squall reiterated. Realizing how pathetically wishy-washy his words were, he confirmed, "I want to be with you."

Wishing he could hear such a declaration under more favorable circumstances, Cale took what he could get. Running his thumb over the back of the brunet's hand, he contemplated how to proceed. "I'd never hold anything against you," he assured.

Guilt swelling, Squall glanced away from the professor's gaze. "Doormat," he accused lightly, wanting the man to know it was okay to be angry.

Chuckling, Cale commented, "Only for you." Trying to smile in reassurance, he failed. He just couldn't smile at the moment. It hurt. He wanted take the brunet into his arms and squeeze tightly until his insecurities were abated.

"You should be angry," Squall stated, meeting red eyes finally. He was angry with himself, even if he didn't show it. His betrayal didn't end with the events that had occurred inside the ex-knight's apartment. His betrayal continued with each stray thought spent remembering the blond's touch.

"I know," Cale agreed. He was hardly fine with it, but if he was angry with anyone it wasn't Squall. "You're still with me," he said, squeezing the hand in his grasp. "That's all I care about."

Squall couldn't determine why he was having such difficulty forgetting about Seifer. His choice between the two men was clearly cut and he'd already made his decision, yet in moments of idleness he found himself absently playing with the collar of his shirt while thinking of the ex-knight. It wasn't that his body was unresponsive to the islander's touch, but he'd never become lost in it. On the floor of Seifer's apartment with the blond's muscular body heavily pressing down atop his own, the world could have come to an end and he wouldn't have noticed. He still shivered uncontrollably at night when he drifted off to sleep and his body could practically feel the arrogant man's lips kissing him fiercely.

"Are you okay?" Cale queried, seeing the dazed look in grey-blue eyes. It wasn't uncommon for the brunet's mind to wander off, but with the way pale cheeks were more colored than usual he wondered if the quiet man had a fever.

Suppressing his thoughts, Squall gently squeezed the professor's hand back in a vote of confidence that didn't exist. He needed to forget about Seifer and start concentrating on what mattered. "I'm fine," he murmured.

TBC…

Author's Note: I know everyone's itching for more Seifer/Squall action, but I'm very anal about pacing things properly. I hate the idea of throwing them into bed together, since it's not even close to plausible for this storyline. This is definitely shaping up to be a long story, so expect many more twists and turns to come along as it progresses.


	23. Chapter 23

Defining Love

Chapter Twenty-Three

Squall strode alongside Cale, steps mannered to compensate for the professor's long limbed gait. On their way from Lexis café, he was uncertain how to spend the remainder of his day. It was Saturday, so there was no need to return home any time soon. Lore had soccer practice and had alluded to hanging out with friends afterward.

"Did you have plans or are you mine this evening?" Cale questioned, arm smoothly wrapping around narrow shoulders.

"I'm yours," Squall answered evenly, considering for a moment that he hadn't planned anything beyond his act of confession. He realized that on an unconscious level, he hadn't expected his day to involve time with the professor. He'd presumed the man would break up with him after learning of his infidelity. Relationships crumbled under less straining circumstances, but perhaps he wasn't giving the infatuated man enough credit.

Clearing his throat, Cale composed himself and fought back the desire to pull the brunet close after hearing such easily misconstrued words. Squall spoke with such aloofness that there wasn't an ounce of romance, but it still resonated through him. He wondered if that made him desperate for some sort of confirmation that Squall was falling in love.

Suddenly struck by the odd sensation that he was being watched, Squall stirred in the professor's hold. Scanning the sidewalks and street, stormy blue eyes found nothing out of the ordinary among the moderately crowded area of apartment buildings and Soho shops. It wasn't exactly the sort of feeling he could mistake for something else, but whenever he was out in public he could generally expect to be recognized.

"What is it?" Cale questioned, searching around in a similar manner.

Finding nothing out of place on the familiar street, Squall wondered if he weren't trying to find reasons to concentrate on Seifer at the most inappropriate of moments. He didn't want to make something out of nothing, so he ignored the unsettling sensation. With a sigh and shake of his head, he dismissed it. "Nothing," he mumbled, stepping closer to the tall man.

About to comment that it must have been something, Cale was silenced by the former commander's body pressing sweetly against his own. If Squall's expression weren't so impassive, he'd swear the man was doing it on purpose to placate his growing need for requital. Arm encompassing the brunet's shoulders again, he relished the moment for all its worth.

Perceiving that the younger man was moved by something, Squall glanced sidelong at the smiling islander. "What?" he asked with subdued curiosity.

Expression softening, Cale murmured, "I like holding you, that's all."

Frowning briefly, Squall quickly dismissed the man's smiling contentment. Some people were happy over the simplest things. Lore and Laguna were like that at times.

"Where to?" Cale prompted, not entirely certain what to do to keep the brunet entertained enough to stay with him as long as possible. Esthar was large and busy enough to supply them with countless activities, but his quiet partner was not easily drawn into the normal forms of entertainment. It was Saturday and just about every square inch of the city's central districts would be bustling with crowds in an hour or so.

"…" Squall had the day off, which wasn't unusual since he suspected Cid considered him to be in retirement, leaving him free to do whatever he pleased. The sun hadn't set yet, so it was still a bit early for dinner. Laguna was staying the night, so Lore wouldn't be alone. Though, in many ways it was more worrisome to have Laguna in charge.

"Do you want to go to my place?"

Nodding in acquiescence, Squall cast a final glance over his shoulder. Seifer hated losing, which left him diffident about the determined man's next move. The self-conscious feeling that he was being watched persisted, but he saw no tall ex-knight around.

--

Seifer welcomed the evening sun as its rays poured in from the west, a good three hours left before it would hit the flat horizon. With the first several buttons of his white dress shirt undone and the cuffs of his sleeves rolled up to the elbow, the defined curve of his collar and muscular forearms were the only part of his richly tanned skin exposed to the warm light. He'd have been stripped down to a pair of shorts if he were out at sea, but his change in careers left him with nothing but wishful thinking. Not even his foreman could coerce the nail hammering laborers to follow his instructions if he walked around in a pair of shorts. So he stood onsite in a dress shirt and dark slacks, looking every bit the business man, but not so uptight as to wear a tie.

He found himself ensconced in a million different projects all at once. As contractor for the training center, it was his job to oversee just about everything. Despite his increasing desire to focus on his personal life, specifically hunting down an enticingly stubborn brunet, he simply couldn't shirk his responsibilities. Even he understood the poor message it would send if he went off gallivanting while his crew was pulling overtime on a Saturday.

Lucky for him, he was given a chance to have a little fun without going anywhere. Trouble came in the form of Leonhart's other guard dog. He assumed Kinneas would be out of commission for a while, licking some rather nasty wounds and recovering from a battered pride. The brat, who he couldn't very well call Leonhart since that was a title reserved for only one person, came to him in a fuming tizzy.

Almost gleeful at the prospect of jerking someone's emotions around, Seifer tore his attention away from jargon packed schematics and watched the approach of Leonhart's youngest groupie. Removing the bright yellow hardhat adorning his head, he ran his fingers through short strand of golden blond hair in an attempt to smooth them back.

Standing before a paper-strewn table with rocks scattered as makeshift paperweights, he watched the boy's approach. "Careful kid, you're making a pattern of showing up unannounced," he jibed in greeting.

Mildly curious at the busy construction going on a short distance away, Lore reminded himself why he was there. Bringing his angry stalk to a halt before the random table that would have simply been in the middle of a vacant expanse if not for the giant structure looming in the background, he crossed his arms and stood firmly in place. Scoffing, he pointed out, "I suppose you phoned ahead to say you'd be outside my school, but the message just never went through."

"Fair enough," Seifer said with a mirthless chuckle. "It must be hereditary."

Lore glared. "So, you like my dad," he muttered with distain, making no effort to segue to the topic. Sizing the ex-knight up and down, he was embittered by the fact that if the man had been anyone other than a cocky bastard who liked his father, he'd think the guy was pretty cool, strictly based on appearances anyway. His ego was painfully aware of how much smaller his stature was in comparison. Growing taller than his father had been a milestone in his life and whether or not he cared to dwell on it, the height he'd been hoping to grow to would likely be a result of the ex-knight's genes.

For Seifer, the whole overprotective bodyguard act was growing tiresome. "You're beating a dead horse kid. I don't care how many times you tell me that I'm not wanted anywhere near your daddy. The one who makes those decisions isn't you or Kinneas." While Leonhart had already made his rejection quite clear, he was still determined to seduce the almighty ice prince. The responsiveness he'd felt that day on his apartment floor had been all too real to be anything but suppressed desire. He couldn't trust the words that came out of the stubborn man's mouth, only how readily that firm body warmed to his touch.

Blue-green eyes narrowed in warning. "I figured you wouldn't give up so easily, but I didn't think you'd be in denial. My dad doesn't like you. He's already with someone else." Lore couldn't believe he was actually using Cale as an excuse. Of all the countless ailments that he'd always believed his father to be immune to, he'd often feared some beautiful woman would steal his father's heart or some perverted man would simply steal his father. Whether or not he was being overprotective didn't matter, and judging from his uncle's clear disposition, he'd say this was one time it was acceptable to act on his own without consulting anyone first.

Phone ringing, Seifer glanced down at the small device hooked onto his belt. Taking a brief moment to assess a matter unrelated to the confrontation he was currently faced with, he was compelled to split his attention. "Hold on kid," he muttered, deciding it was best he answer the call.

Lore glared balefully at the back of the ex-knight's head. Steadily losing steam, it was difficult to carry on in his fuming tirade when he stood idly waiting for the man to finish talking about coming in over budget.

"Get it done," Seifer growled out before hanging up with an air of frustration. Standing with his back to the boy, he stood silently for a long moment. "Let's take a fieldtrip," he muttered at length, not bothering to turn around.

Blinking in confusion, Lore wasn't sure if the blond were talking to him or not.

Frowning, Seifer glanced around and quirked a brow at the boy's lack of cooperation. Grabbing his discarded helmet, he tossed it to the young man and prompted, "Wear that." Stalking away, he didn't bother to make sure his instructions were followed.

Clutching the hat to his chest, Lore jogged to catch up. Realizing his compliance with the ex-knight's demands, he scowled. Mentally throwing several insults, he strengthened his resolve to say everything he'd come there to say.

As Seifer neared the training center, which had finally taken shape, he cast a furtive glance towards the kid, his eyes drawn to dark hair. He should have known better than to assume Rinoa had been the mother. Then again, the actual circumstances were far less conceivable than Princess Heartilly going through the pains of childbirth. His curiosity was baffling. It wasn't difficult to look at the boy walking beside him and understand that it was his son, but there were unsettling feelings that he swore hadn't been there before. He couldn't understand why it wasn't such an easy notion to dismiss anymore.

"You're staring," Lore said tersely, glaring at the man he walked beside.

Jaw clenching, Seifer didn't give any retort. "Keep up," he instructed after an awkward pause. "And put that hat on." Weaving a maze like path through the far from finished structure, he moved towards the center. Whether or not he was trying to show off his newest venture, there was an odd sensation that he wasn't motivated for the usual reasons.

Lore glanced around quickly, trying to memorize the way in. There was a good chance he'd be storming out after saying what he'd come to say and the last thing he needed was to ask for directions back to the parking lot. Feeling like he was the focus of attention, he looked at the blond, only to find the man wasn't staring at him like before. Frowning, he soon realized that scattered construction workers were looking his way. Blushing faintly, he felt uneasy. He was out of his element and wished he had remained outside. There was a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach as he glanced upwards, glimpsing patches of blue sky that seemed miles away through the top of the skeleton of I-beams. Donning the yellow hat reluctantly, there was an odd comfort it brought.

"Unless you guys feel like staying all night, get back to work!" Seifer barked, voice bellowing through the spacious scaffolding that let sound travel unimpeded.

Eyes widening, Lore almost stopped in his tracks. Had the ex-knight yelled at them for his sake? Shaking his head, he answered his own question. Of course not, why would the man do something like that?

"Damn monkeys," Seifer muttered to himself, annoyed that he couldn't bring in workers from Fisherman's Horizon because of Esthar's ridiculous employment regulations. There were regulations for everything and it was becoming quite cumbersome when he was used to making under the table deals and compensating employees for making that extra bit of effort that kept him on schedule and in business.

When cement flooring gave way to plywood panels, Lore realized they'd reached the center of the building. Shoes thudding as he walked down the ramp, he soon stood on packed dirt in the middle of what looked like the makings of an arena. Feeling out in the open, yet boxed in at the same time, he was gazing around curiously before he could stop himself. Though he doubted the high walls would be housing seats, he couldn't fathom what the finished structure would look like.

"I figure one of two things can happen," Seifer began with an air of camaraderie that suggested he'd forgotten why the boy had come in the first place. "Either a whole bunch of SeeD wannabes will disrupt the status quo or the world gets a few more master gunbladists."

Considering the ex-knight's words, Lore stopped himself abruptly. "The only thing I care about is that you stay away from my dad," he bit out coldly, making a point of staring at the blond man and nowhere else.

Jade eyes narrowing, Seifer returned the boy's glare. "No," he said evenly.

Bristling in anger, Lore opened his mouth to speak again but was cut off before he even began.

"Look," Seifer started in as amicably as he could manage, not stupid enough to make an archenemy of Leonhart's favored son. "You're obviously not here to beat me up, because I could crush you with both hands tied behind my back."

Lips forming a tight line, Lore didn't bother to defend his ability to fight when their skill levels were worlds apart.

"I've heard the whole speech about what happens if I hurt your precious daddy. Save it, 'cause I don't give a flying fuck." Leveling with the kid, he gave up on his hopes of winning the son over to get to the father. At this point, it was apparent he was the boy's number one enemy, which wasn't easily rectified. "I'll tell you what I told Kinneas. This isn't any of your business. This is between me and Squally-boy, no one else."

"My dad's business _is _my business," Lore corrected.

Shaking his head, Seifer strode several paces away and looked around calmly. He was surprised by his sudden lack of interest in teasing the boy. Making his case with little more than common sense, he glanced back at the angry puppy dog. "Everyone's business is their own. I know Leonhart has a soft spot for you, but it's also my understanding that you're his son, not his lover."

Glancing away, Lore focused on keeping his face from turning red. Angry and embarrassed at the mere idea that his love for his father was anything other than that of a son, he needed a moment to collect himself.

Rolling his eyes, Seifer pointed out, "I'm not saying your in love with him."

"I know that," Lore hissed defensively, eyes flashing with malevolence.

"So stop acting like an angry lover," Seifer returned, somewhat aware that he'd chanced upon an extremely sensitive issue with the boy. While he would kick himself later for not using the weakness for his own amusement, he instead found himself tempering his words so as not to set the kid off. "You and Kinneas come here like a pair of possessive lovers, bitching and whining and saying that some other man beat me to it. The only person other than Leonhart himself who has a right to tell me to back off would be the prick you guys made him go out with."

"We didn't make him go out with anyone," Lore refuted. Though he was now aware that his uncle had preceded him in confronting the ex-knight, he carried on with his own agenda nonetheless. "You just don't know when to give up."

"Why would I give up? I've had positive results so far," Seifer declared, only hinting at what he was certain the boy didn't know about.

"What's that mean?" Lore asked demandingly.

Grinning, Seifer said, "I don't kiss and tell kid. What happens between me and Leonhart stays between us, because it's none of your business."

"I'm not acting like his lover, I'm acting like his son," Lore stated with false confidence. "It's my business because he's my father."

"You're building an argument on shaky ground. If you were tiny pipsqueak with abandonment issues, it would make sense that you reject anyone trying to catch your dad's attention. Unless you're wearing a diaper, I think you're a little too old to be pulling the whole needy brat act. I don't know what Kinneas' deal is, maybe he has feelings of his own, but you're different."

Abashed, Lore felt his response die in his throat. He had nothing to say. Or rather he just couldn't force himself to speak. There was a sharp truth to the ex-knight's words that cut him deeply. He had spent the day brooding over how his father had actually closed up on him the other day. Being left in the dark as a big part of what fueled his anger towards the cocky blond, but he'd been so certain he was acting out of love and concern. Now he wasn't so sure and the tiniest bit of doubt left him speechless.

"Well don't get choked up about it," Seifer muttered.

"It's because of you that he has secrets now," Lore accused angrily, his underlying feelings of hurt welling up and spilling over the pretense he'd come there on.

Cringing, Seifer interjected, "Whoa there." Hands held up, he silently pleaded that he didn't have to deal with teenage angst. Who was he to rain on Leonhart's parental parade?

"And it's not like I can ask what you did," Lore went on to rant. "He doesn't want me to know, but he never keeps anything from me. He barely spoke to me that entire night and it's your fault."

Snapping his fingers to draw the dark haired youth's attention, Seifer waited until mixed blue-green eyes were on him. "Does it look like I care?"

Gaze narrowing, Lore stared into striking green eyes for several long moments. "What is it you want from him?"

Smirking, Seifer teetered on the verge of admitting it was purely a physical desire to fuck the boy's father, but he held back. "None of your business," he informed smoothly.

"It is my business," Lore affirmed in a raised voice. "If it has to do with my dad, then I have a right to know."

Sighing in exasperation, Seifer muttered, "Round and round we go."

"I can wait all night," Lore declared.

"Then it's going to be a long night, isn't it?" Seifer returned, crossing his arms and towering over the stubborn kid.

--

Panting, Squall caught his breath while Cale removed his layered shirts, which had suddenly become unnecessary articles of clothing. Quietly complacent in the exploits of physical pleasure, he gave no sign of drawing any lines that night.

Crimson eyes raked over the brunet's exposed torso hungrily. The most iron willed of men could drown in lust if given too much of what Squall had to offer. Cale wasn't as interested in the lithe fighter's body as he was in the man's heart, which helped control his sometimes unruly libido.

"Cale," Squall called, drawing the professor's slightly dazed eyes to attention. "Am I spending the night?" While he didn't need to know a week ahead of time when sex between them would finally happen, he would like to at least know before it was a decision made by how aroused they were.

Gulping, Cale regarded the impassive brunet reverently. "The night," he repeated dumbly. "As in…"

Nodding faintly, Squall waited patiently for the younger man to consider his implied offer. There were only so many times he was willing to make out without progressing the whole nine yards, but he wasn't about to reveal his inner impatience. Hardly celibate, it was easy enough to live without sex when no one incited his body's urges, but now that he had Cale, it was more difficult to ignore.

Hesitant, Cale felt uncertain of what to do. The idea of making love to Squall was highly appealing, but it was something he had hoped to do when they both felt the same way toward one another. Contemplating, he gazed longingly into stormy blue eyes. Presented with a tantalizing glimpse of what he could have, he felt his shoulders sag at the inevitable decision he reached. "Not yet," he murmured, soothing his own dejection by reaching out and drawing the former commander close. "I'm sorry," he apologized before capturing soft lips.

Suddenly feeling underdressed for an occasion that wouldn't involve sex, Squall distanced himself after drawing the kiss to an end. "Is something wrong?" he questioned, wondering if there were any particular reason that the islander were being so prudent or if he was the one being unreasonable.

Shaking his head, Cale rushed to explain, "It's not that I don't want to, but when we do it, I want you to love me."

Studying the professor's deceptively roguish features, Squall concluded that he should remain patient. It seemed a crime to pressure someone so painstakingly heartfelt. In a platonic way, he was reminded of Laguna. He was hardly some horny teenage boy trying to lose his virginity because he had no control over his hormones. He was simply being realistic about the demands of an adult relationship. Perhaps they weren't truly his demands though. While none of his relationships could be considered normal, sex seemed like one of those constant factors no matter how unusual the pairing.

"Will you still stay the night?" Cale requested hopefully.

With a bare nod, Squall agreed. Reaching for the inside out garments recently removed, he was surprised when his hand was stayed. Looking into uniquely colored eyes, he questioned the professor's preference for him being half naked when they were not going to fool around.

Hardly hypocritical, Cale was simply respecting the seriousness and meaning in that final step of physical acceptance. Oral sex just one way he could think of to compensate for what would be missing until the day Squall came to love him. "Let me make you feel good," he said, finding no resistance when he pushed the brunet back against the couch

--

It was almost one when Lore returned home. Somberly, he shirked out of his coat and lazily slipped his sneakers off. He felt drained both emotionally and physically.

"Where were you?" Laguna questioned lightly, seated on the couch in the open flat of the apartment.

Sighing, Lore rounded the couch and collapsed next to his grandfather. "It's a long story," he muttered. He was ready to fall asleep.

Having spent the day at his son's apartment alone, Laguna wasn't in the best of moods. The reason his liked to visit on weekends was because everyone was home. "I called your dad to let him know you'd be out late. You should call him again to let him know you're back," the older man informed.

Eyes opening, Lore raised his head from the back of the couch. "Dad's not here?"

"He's gone for the night," Laguna said.

Confused, Lore questioned, "Where?"

Lips turning upward, Laguna answered, "He's staying over at Cale's."

"What?" Lore practically cried. "He can't…" he trailed off, unable to be outraged without being a hypocrite.

Frowning, Laguna perceived that something was ailing his grandson. "What's wrong?" he questioned, always willing to help when he could.

Scratching at short strands of raven hair, Lore sat forward and hung his head in frustration. "Grandpa, is it wrong that I want to protect Dad?"

Hazel green eyes studied youthful features. "No, it's natural," he replied. "Why? Did something happen to Squall?"

Shaking his head, Lore wasn't certain if anything had happened or not, because he hadn't been informed. "I don't know. I think Seifer did something, but now I'm more worried about Dad staying over at Cale's."

"Call him," Laguna suggested, not certain how Seifer Almasy played into Lore's worries about Squall. "I can't make you worry less, but I can assure you that your dad is tough as nails." With his grandson home safe and sound, he flipped the television, no longer needing the noise to keep him awake.

Nodding absently, Lore attempted to use his cell phone without actually thinking about where he'd put it. He'd last used it to call home, telling his grandfather that he'd be late. He hadn't thought much of his father's absence at the time, knowing he was out with Cale. He had been quite certain he could speak with his father upon returning home, but he was sadly disappointed and felt as though his churning emotions wouldn't rest until he was able to see his dad again.

Debating whether or not to call his father, Lore stood up from the couch. He feared that if he heard the quiet man's soft voice, he'd be compelled to drive over to Cale's apartment. He was sixteen and felt as though he couldn't go a night without being tucked into bed. Feeling immature, he brooded with indecision.

"Hmm," Laguna hummed thoughtfully. "Maybe you shouldn't call him," he murmured, hand at his chin.

Stirring from his thoughts, Lore glanced at his grandfather with a questioning expression. "Why not?" he inquired.

Bristling uncomfortably, Laguna stumbled over explaining what he thought the boy had thought of in the first place. Having mistaken the youth's hesitant pacing, he was now stuck with having to say something embarrassing. "He might be a little busy," he said as quickly as possible.

"He what?" Lore questioned, not catching the older man's rushed words.

Taking a deep breath, Laguna cursed his innate modesty for such matters. "If he's with Cale," he rephrased more slowly, "then he might be busy."

Staring for an uncomprehending moment, Lore's decision was made on its own. "I'm calling him," he announced, entirely willing to interrupt whatever the enamored professor was doing to his father.

--

"I love you too," Squall murmured. Draped over the edge of the bed, he gave a heavy sigh as he flipped his cell phone shut. Tossing the phone onto his crumpled pants where he had fished it out after hearing it vibrate, he rolled back onto the bed.

"Lore?" Cale questioned quietly, arms reaching out to draw the brunet back to himself.

Stifling a yawn, Squall nodded. "I was expecting him to show up," he admitted, knowing his sleepover was likely to cause a few ripples in the water. Mildly concerned that it was after one in the morning when his son had returned home, he knew it wasn't an issue that needed to be addressed. With an understood curfew of midnight, it wasn't exactly a clearly stated rule. It was also Saturday and of all the nights for his studious son to break curfew, Saturday was best.

"It's kind of late, isn't it?" Cale commented, shifting around to become settled once again. He was ridiculously happy at the moment, but managed to not grin like a fool. Waking up to the rustling of the covers and absence of warmth was a pleasant experience when he quickly realized that he hadn't simply dreamed sleeping with Squall.

"Nnh," Squall mumbled incoherently, half asleep again. It was surprisingly easy to fall asleep with someone else in the bed. Perhaps it was from years of training with Lore. There was an awkward difference between holding a comfort seeking child and being the one held, but the rest seemed to follow just the same.

While Cale understood that the lithe fighter simply wanted to go back to sleep, he was more content to bide his time. He let his fingers brush through soft strands of dark brown hair. Quietly, he drifted.

Ten minutes later, when Cale was nodding off and Squall was already asleep, loud knocking on the apartment door cut through the peaceful silence. Awake instantly, Squall chose to remain still and scowl in response.

"Let me guess," Cale murmured wryly, wanting to laugh it off but finding he was sorely disappointed. He was surprised he'd had the former commander to himself for as long as he did. He supposed it would be pressing his luck to go all night without Lore taking the man away.

Frowning deeper after his sleep heavy mind cleared, Squall concluded that his son wouldn't have driven all the way there. While he doubted Lore was thrilled that he was spending the night at Cale's, the youth had giving a reluctant blessing. "I'll answer it," he muttered, thinking it might have been his son after all.

Blindly pulling his pants on, Squall felt around for his shirts. Considering he'd worn two shirts, he was surprised he couldn't at least find one of them.

The sharp knocking persisted, the caller demanding to be let in.

Frowning again, Squall felt quite certain it wasn't Lore. He'd thought briefly that the odd tone of voice the young man had had over the phone might have meant something was bothering the boy, but he doubted that would have been a reason for such a late night visit. Not bothering to perform the hunt for missing clothes, he quietly walked out of the professor's bedroom and carefully navigated his way to the door. Turning the lights on, he shied from the brightness, but forced his eyes to adjust.

Before Squall opened the door, he was overcome with apprehension. What if it were Seifer? Running a hand through mussed hair, he reminded himself that Cale already knew about what had happened.

Opening the door with the push of a button, he found himself staring into dark brown eyes.

"Who the hell are you?" a young man with a somewhat rounded face questioned with a note of anger.

Squall was less surprised by the rude greeting and more surprised that he'd found someone who appeared more feminine than himself. It was a nice feeling, to know he wasn't the only man lacking that extra bit of testosterone. Before answering the rude question, he studied the younger man's face out of habit, memorizing every line in case ten years passed and he needed to pick the person out of a crowd. The man, who couldn't have been older than twenty, had spiky brown hair and thin lips currently pursed in annoyance. With a small frame encased in slim jeans and a t-shirt one size too small, he felt as though he was seeing what his body would have looked like if he hadn't trained most of his life to be a mercenary. Not fat, just thin with little muscle definition.

Realizing it was someone Cale must know, Squall decided he'd best let the professor deal with it. "Hold on," he muttered, turning and spotting the white haired islander shrugging into a t-shirt while exiting the bedroom.

"Professor Bernhein!" the young man greeted jovially, rushing in past the half naked man who'd opened the door.

Glancing around as though unable to determine which way the sound had come from, Cale quickly spotted his student. He wasn't sure if his confusion was because he was half asleep or because there was no logical reason for Luca to be in his apartment at one in the morning.

"Luca," Cale began dubiously.

"I know," the young man interjected. "It's late, I shouldn't be here, but I had to come."

Squall spotted the rest of his clothes on the couch, recalling the instance he'd first taken his top off. Quietly, he retrieved them, not wanting to intrude. As he finished dressing himself, he was somewhat aware of the eyes boring into his back. Casting an indifferent gaze over his shoulder, he found himself the target of disdainful dark brown eyes.

"I see you have company," the young man commented with underlying contempt.

"Luca," Cale said again in exasperation. "Luca, this is Squall Leonhart."

Eyes widening, Luca stared in shock. Looking the lithe brunet up and down, recognition slowly dawned.

"Squall," Cale continued with the introductions, "this is Luca Miner, a student of mine."

As if forced to make nice, Luca grudgingly muttered, "How do you do."

Hardly the type of person to even pretend to make nice, Squall gave a bare nod of his head in greeting. It was obvious the young man wasn't ecstatic that he was there. He could deal with rudeness easily enough, but he became agitated when people suddenly tried showing a friendlier side upon recognizing his face or name. Hidden faces meant hidden motives, and it was too late for him to be dealing with any of that.

"I'm sorry," Cale apologized, realizing his work had suddenly crossed into his personal life and that Squall was probably bothered by it.

"…" Squall didn't care. He was debating whether or not to simply go back to bed.

"I didn't know you were involved with anyone," Luca stated, glancing back and forth between the two older men.

Running a hand through silver-white hair, Cale attempted to fix the messy strands. "I make a point of sticking to the topic in class," he said, politely informing the young man that his personal life was not his students' business.

"I'll leave you," Squall said evenly, walking toward the bedroom.

Hand gently grabbing the lithe fighter's shoulder, Cale sought to keep Squall with him the rest of night as planned. "Wait, please stay," he requested.

"I am," Squall pointed out.

"Oh," Cale sounded in understanding. With a sheepish smile, he assured, "I won't take long."

As Squall left the room, the voices of Cale and Luca followed him. With no actual bedroom door, he couldn't be blamed for overhearing every word. Keeping his clothes on, he slipped back into bed and tried to occupy his mind.

"Is it serious?" Luca's unsettled voice questioned, effectively breaking Squall's attempt to tune the conversation out.

"You know I can't get into that with you," Cale placated, all too aware that his student was fixated on his homosexuality. The boy was an economics major who had stumbled into his class for the sake of fulfilling a requirement, and within the first week his class had become a favorite of the boy's for reasons he suspected had very little to do with how it was taught and the material covered.

"I came because I was freaking out about my paper," Luca redirected. "I know it's late and inappropriate, but if I don't average an A, I'll drop below a three for my GPA."

"You seem like an A student," Cale commented, surprised the dark eyed brunet didn't have As in every class.

"Just in your class."

Cale sighed. There was a long bout of silence until Squall heard the rummaging of papers. "I'm not sure I graded your paper yet," the professor admitted, continuing to search.

"It was on the lasting effects of Adel's tyranny in today's society," Luca offered in reminder.

"Hmm, I did get to that," Cale said. "It was good, but a bit too argumentative."

"I was just being poignant."

"Poignant is fine, but remember to make your point without shifting focus to why another opinion is wrong. It's not a debate." There was another long pause. "Here," Cale said, desk drawer closing with a dull thud. "I gave it an even A."

"Thank you." There was an odd pattern of rushed footsteps. "Thank you so much."

"Luca, please," Cale said sternly.

Rolling his eyes, Squall turned over in bed, able to place each sound with the movement itself. He didn't need to see what was happening to know the young man was a good foot of the ground, dangling from Cale's neck.

"It's late, I'll leave."

"That would be best," Cale affirmed.

"I'll see you Monday then."

Squall waited for several more minutes before the lights were turned off and the tall professor joined him again. Not entirely enthused at the disturbance, he figured being overzealous and having a crush was just a bad combination.

"Sorry," Cale whispered, slowly climbing into bed with the alluring brunet.

"It's not your fault," Squall pointed out, accepting the man's lips as they sought his own.

"A lot of students get like this towards the end of the semester, especially seniors," the professor explained, sighing as he settled in once more.

Resenting that the islander would think he was oblivious, Squall stated, "I'm not blind Cale."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you don't need to make excuses for anyone."

Frowning, Cale sat up. "I wasn't making excuses."

"He didn't come here for the paper," Squall muttered.

Silent for a long moment, Cale eventually admitted, "I know, but I didn't want to say anything."

Staring up, Squall could barely manage to make out the crimson color of the islander's eyes in the dark room. "I'm not jealous. Don't spare me anything."

Expression softening, Cale was relieved that his unreadable lover hadn't been put on the spot. "Not even a little?" he said jokingly.

"Goodnight," Squall said, turning over.

Cale sank back down. Arm reaching out and wrapping around the brunet's waist, he sidled close to the man's warm back. "I love you," he whispered, gently tightening his hold to impress his sincerity.

Squall didn't reply.

TBC…

Author's Note: OMG Again, such a late update. I'm hating this semester. I didn't have a thing written until this week, which was spring break for me. Sorry you guys, I know waiting is a pain. Thank you all for the awesome reviews and sticking with me, it means a lot! Okay, regarding this chapter, I know there's a lot of Cale/Squall time going on, but trust me when I say I do my best to only write necessary scenes. I often find myself going on tangents that will end up dragging the story and do little to develop the plot, but despite appearances every little bit counts for something in this chapter. Whether you love Cale or hate him, he's essential. And since the final pairing is set in stone and you all know who Squall ends up with, I know every die hard Seifer fan out there will forgive me in the end. Thank you guys again, I really hope this chapter was worth the wait.


	24. Chapter 24

Defining Love

Chapter Twenty-Four

Cheering from the stands was not an art form that Squall had perfected, but his avid attention was sufficient support, even if he was somewhat distracted. There was an awkwardness between him and his son now, and it hurt. He suspected it was because neither of them knew how to handle keeping secrets from one another. Regardless of the fact that he was the adult, he felt powerless to stop the rift forming and could not bring himself to openly confront the issue. Each time they spoke to each other, they were both holding back. He wanted to ask where his son had been on Saturday, but didn't. He knew Lore wanted to ask him about Seifer, but the boy skirted the topic at all costs. Mending the fence with his son was not the only problem on his mind however. He couldn't stop thinking about Seifer, and it was becoming worse, beyond unbearable when he lay awake at night and shivered in remembrance of the ex-knight's touch.

A quiet sigh escaped bowed lips as Squall forced his mind to concentrate on the game. It was a miserable day, grey clouds marring the sky and threatening to bring a downpour that might postpone the match. Wearing a pair of black leather pants and black t-shirt beneath his bomber jacket, he wasn't the tiniest bit aware of how much he stood out in the crowd of middle-aged parents and youthful students. He simply didn't fit in, but that was the story of his life. He didn't look thirty-four, but that was to be expected when his father didn't look a day over fifty.

As usual, there was a hole in the crowd around the former commander, which was on account of his lineage and history as SeeD. His tendency to scowl whenever someone tried to strike up conversation was also a likely cause, but he considered it a relief and hardly cared that everyone kept their distance as though he had leprosy. Accompanied by Cale, who had recently left campus in his slate grey slacks and crisp pale blue dress shirt, Squall was not left alone in his isolation, but the professor's presence made as much difference as an umbrella during a typhoon. Even if he was conscious of the man seated at his side, he offered no acknowledgment of the fact.

While stormy blue irises were glued to the grassy expanse ahead, following the dark haired striker wearing a red jersey with the number 7 written in yellow, crimson eyes seemed more interested in watching the silently concentrating brunet. Not exactly jealous of the devotion shown, Cale felt a small pang of neglect and couldn't help but remind the older man that he was there. Picking the right time, when the game was in time out and nothing would be missed, he questioned, "How long has Lore been playing soccer?"

"Hmm?" Squall intoned, at last tearing his gaze from the field. The focus of his eyes did not match the thoughts streaming through his head. Faking attentiveness was far easier than actually being attentive, which was something he'd only recently discovered. He was absorbing some of the game though, since he'd never forgive himself for thinking only about Seifer while his son was playing.

Studying the former commander's face, thrilled that the devastatingly attractive man was his boyfriend after months of unrequited feelings, Cale repeated, "How long has Lore been playing soccer?"

Bowed lips frowned ever so slightly while Squall considered the question. It wasn't something he could recall at the drop of a hat. Sixteen years had left him with an inordinate amount remember. "Middle school," he replied evenly, figuring the years prior to middle school didn't count since it hadn't been on an official team. Kicking the ball back and forth in the park wasn't exactly what the sport was about.

"Has he mentioned playing in college?" Cale followed up. While his greatest interest was not in the sports Squall's son intended to play in college, he would become enthralled in whatever topic kept the brunet's attention.

Shrugging, Squall muttered, "I don't know." Glancing back to the soccer field, he was reassured that the game hadn't started again.

"He's good," Cale commented, hard pressed to say anything that would draw his reticent lover's focus.

Smiling subtly, Squall informed, "They wanted to move him up to varsity last year, but he was too young."

Regarding the brunet reverently, Cale simply stared. "You're beautiful when you smile," he murmured quietly.

Hearing the professor's words at a different pace than he processed the unexpected comment, Squall stared at the sidelines with forced composure. He could feel a slight heat in his cheeks. "I'm not a woman," he muttered, shifting uncomfortably, shrugging deeper into his jacket.

"Which is one of the reasons why I'm in love with you," Cale reminded. Beauty was in the eye of the beholder, and as a gay man his attraction was in other men.

Head bowing slightly, lengthy strands of soft brown hair fell to shield Squall's eyes while he reminded himself that Cale's words were not veiled insults like a certain blond ex-knight. Being called beautiful might have been embarrassing, but it hadn't been meant to imply he looked like a woman. It was weird to consider the sincerity behind the professor's words, which of course only made it all the more embarrassing.

"Sorry," Cale whispered with a small chuckle of understanding. "I've embarrassed you."

"No," Squall refuted, simply unable to come up with a suitable reply.

The chirping blow of the referee's whistle cut through the air and the game was afoot once more. Squall spared himself the trouble of speaking further and turned his attention back to the game.

Mercy's opponent, Triton High School, took the lead by a single goal, and the crowd cheered. Frowning, Squall felt the urge to turn around and glare at a rather rambunctious group sitting nearby. It was an away game, which meant the majority of spectators were students at Triton and support for Mercy was lacking.

"They'll get it back," Cale said confidently.

Nodding in agreement, Squall started in surprise at the vibrating of his cell phone. Regarding the small screen curiously, he answered the call from Laguna. "Hello," he greeted evenly.

"Squall!" Laguna exclaimed on the other end. "I can't believe those bastards just scored!"

Frowning, Squall asked, "Where are you?"

"Turn around," Laguna instructed.

Bracing himself for a moment, Squall lowered the phone and looked behind himself. At the top of the bleachers, which lead up and out of the pitted field, an enthusiastic man waved frantically. The wild display caused more heads turned to stare at the Estharian president, who was surrounded by a small group of bodyguards.

Flipping his phone shut, Squall looked away and pretended he hadn't seen a thing.

"I didn't know President Loire was coming," Cale commented, raising an arm and flagging the man over when the older man kept waving.

"That makes two of us," Squall murmured, hoping the small disturbance didn't distract any of the players.

Phone vibrating in hand, Squall cast the device a dubious look, as if under the belief that it was impossible to receive two calls in as many minutes.

"I think it's the president again," Cale commented, still looking behind to the wildly gesturing man who held a phone to his ear.

"This isn't a walky-talky," Squall groused upon answering the call.

There was silence on the other end.

Brows furrowing, Squall glanced behind to find the president was indeed on a cell phone, but apparently not with him. "Hello?" he spoke questioningly, only loud enough to be heard above the crowd. Figuring it had been a dropped call or Laguna had accidentally ended the call, he was about to hang up when he heard a distinctive click on the other end. There was an unsettling difference between the silent void when someone was listening and when no one was on the other end. No one was there now, but someone had been moments before. Squall looked to his father again, but found the man still on the phone.

"What's wrong?" Cale questioned, seeing a sharp perceptiveness in grey-blue eyes that was only present when that mind was going a mile a minute.

Thoughtful, Squall was neither alarmed nor entirely unconcerned. He wouldn't overreact, but he couldn't help recalling the previous Saturday when he'd had the distinct feeling that someone had been watching him. "Nothing," he said at length, finding no reason to dwell on the matter. While it couldn't have been a case of a wrong call, for he had a secure line on both incoming and outgoing calls, he was confused when he checked for identification. It was listed as unknown. Aside from needing his cell number, there was a four-digit extension that was required, something not easily obtained when he so rarely gave his number out.

Phone going off once again, Squall waited to see whom it was this time. It was Laguna.

"Squall?" the president's voice sounded over the line.

"Yeah," Squall mumbled in reply.

"What happened? I called, but couldn't get through."

"Dropped call," Squall lied. "Why aren't you sitting with us?" he followed quickly, leaving no room for further discussion of such a trivial matter as a prank call. If he changed his phone number because of harassing calls, it wouldn't be the first time, but for now he'd assume it was nothing.

"Oh, I thought I'd hit the wrong button," Laguna confessed with a hearty chuckle. Then, "Anyway, I can't sit with you. Captain Florin feels it would be too insecure. I guess Triton has a reputation for sporting events and the crowd might get a little wild."

Squall detected a note of despondence in his father's voice. Compelled to make some sort of compromise, even though the president had not been expected, he mumbled, "We'll come to you."

A little too quickly and enthusiastically, Laguna cried, "Really!?"

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Squall sighed. Not bothering with a reply, he shut his phone and plucked Cale's sleeve. Indicating toward the president's general direction with a nod, he explained that they would be moving.

"We'd better hurry," Cale commented, almost certain his cool tempered partner would sulk if any of the game were missed.

"Professor Bernhein!"

Squall straightened attentively, spotting the caller with a sharp directional sense. Confirming the owner of the somewhat high-pitched voice, he fought the urge to roll his eyes.

"What is it?" Cale asked, referring to Squall's lack of movement.

"Your student," Squall informed, realizing he'd been the only to hear Lucas Minor.

"What?" Incredulous, Cale gazed overhead of the shorter man and felt an uneasy lurch in his stomach at the sight of Lucas weaving a path through the crowded bleachers.

Quirking a brow, Squall was mildly interested in what excuse covered meeting up half way across the large city. Certainly no book reports were quite so important that needed to be discussed without waiting for a more suitable, not to mention appropriate time. Disillusioned by a jealousy he didn't even feel, Squall decided it wasn't his problem. If Cale couldn't flat out reject the young man, then whatever lovesick toils followed were not to be put to rest by his hand.

"Squall," Cale began as the brunet moved away, climbing the empty seats nearby.

Glancing back, Squall stared briefly into stark red eyes. "Mercy's about to score," he excused. As if in support of his temporary departure, the referee's whistle trilled through the air and a collective booing hiss overcame the crowd.

"I'll only be a second," Cale assured, disgruntled over the disturbance.

"Hey!" Lucas greeted as he came nearer. Brown eyes darting to the president's son, he couldn't hide a small smirk of victory. "My cousin plays for the Tritons," he said cheerfully, as though it were the most pleasant chance meeting.

Doubting his student, Cale felt a prick of self-loathing for not having faith in the young man. Unable as he was to simply accept such an accidental meeting, he wanted to give his student the benefit of the doubt. While Squall's abrupt behavior could be taken as jealousy, he was hardly starved enough to take any pleasure from it.

--

It was Tuesday morning as Lore stumbled into the kitchen, still half asleep. "Hyne, how can you be up so early?" he mumbled somewhat accusingly to his father, who sat typing away at the kitchen table, already showered and dressed casually in dark jeans and burgundy V neck sweater.

Squall gave a faint smile at the sight of his bleary eyed son, long flannel pants hanging low and navy blue t-shirt worn inside out. It wasn't quite six o'clock and he seemed to be the only one aware that there was no school that day. Hardly vindictive, least of all towards Lore, he guessed on how long it would take before the boy realized that it was a holiday, marking the thirty-second year of Esthar's freedom.

As Lore poured himself a cup of coffee he winced at the sight of the small digital clock on the front of the coffeemaker. It wasn't even six yet. Half asleep, he fumbled with the small carton of cream, eventually managing to open the spout.

Frowning, Squall felt that not all was well as he observed an obviously sleep deprived youth. "You don't have school," he pointed out as if stating the obvious.

Stirring the dark liquid until the creamer changed it to a light brown, Lore returned, "I know. I couldn't sleep."

Concern flooded Squall immediately. "Are you feeling sick?" was his first question. Rarely up before seven even when there was school, he should have thought something was amiss sooner.

"I have a lot on my mind," Lore stated morosely.

With a quiet understanding that his son was going to elaborate on whatever troubled that sometimes over analytical mind, Squall remained perfectly still as Lore sat beside him at the table. Stirring briefly, he closed his laptop, effectively setting aside all other matters not pertaining to the boy.

Seeming to sort through his own thoughts, Lore took his time before speaking. "Ask me where I was Saturday."

Hesitating only a moment, Squall complied. "Where were you Saturday?" he asked, a question he had intentionally not given voice to.

Gazing solemnly into his father's eyes, Lore informed, "I was with Seifer." As if to complete some shocking picture, he added, "The whole time."

Brows drawing together, Squall stared with a mixture of incredulity and hurt. Had he heard correctly? Spending time with Seifer seemed to be a pattern his son was making. At least, it was a far more frequently occurring event considering the boy had all but sworn his other father off. There were only so many confrontations to be had with the ex-knight before common sense dictated another cause, which his rather speculative mind assumed must have been some form of friendship or attachment. It wouldn't have mattered if he didn't fear Seifer was trying to use Lore. He didn't want his son used as a means to an end.

Almost petulantly, Squall refused to hide his obvious reaction. It was a horrible feeling knotting in the pit of his stomach. While entirely confident in his role as Lore's father, his less than amorous feelings toward Seifer were born of a new conflict. Honestly, he quite resented Seifer for inadvertently causing him to shut his son out, but his more reasonable sensibility was aware that the ex-knight was hardly at fault for it.

"Dad," Lore began in a pleading manner, "I went to see him because I knew he was the reason you couldn't talk to me. I knew he'd done something that you couldn't stand to talk about and I pretty much guessed what it was."

Grey-blue eyes narrowed slightly. A guarded veil fell to protectively cover any telltale emotions. Expression schooled with meticulous care, he berated his unfounded worries on the matter and remembered his son was smart and not foolish enough to be used by anyone.

"I was wrong," Lore admitted, feeling the heavy truth in all its self-deprecating glory. "Even if I want to protect you, it's not my place." He refused to say it wasn't his business, because he was already burdened enough by the overbearing ex-knight.

Studying the dour expression that hardly diminished his son's handsome features, Squall questioned, "What brought this on?" Though he loved his son more than life itself, he had never dared to coddle the boy and would not start then. Despite the obvious distress Lore was experiencing, he wouldn't refute any eye opening realizations, especially ones that were entirely true. It was not Lore's place to protect him, which he had stated previously. He was curious as to what had caused such a revelation in his stubborn cub, since his own admonishing words had not done the trick.

Loath to admit where his new voice of reason came from, Lore mumbled, "It's just something I finally realized."

As if hearing every word the raven-haired boy had chosen not to say, Squall easily determined that it had been a result of something Seifer had said or done. Just what were Lore's views of the ex-knight? The grander scheme seemed to expand vastly, no longer just a matter of his former rival trying to appease some insane lust. It would seem that his attempt to shut Lore out of the matter had backfired completely.

Not sure what else to say, Lore couldn't grasp any suitable words to express the myriad of emotions churning inside him. He was both saddened by the thought of bowing out and succumbing to his father keeping secrets and personal affairs he wasn't allowed to know of. He was extremely annoyed that his confrontation on Saturday had ended in a stalemate, only later to reveal itself as a defeat. He hadn't known right away, but brooding over what the ex-knight had said, he'd come to the perplexing realization that he'd been wrong. He was also upset that Cale had earned enough of his father's favor to claim an entire night, and as a result of his jealousy he was embarrassed and ashamed that he was acting exactly as Seifer had accused.

Seeing how terribly downtrodden his son appeared, Squall smiled warmly in the hopes of soothing the boy's mood. "I'm glad to have your trust," he murmured, reaching a hand over and ruffling wayward strands of raven hair.

Aghast, Lore reared back. "You've always had my trust!" he cried, alarmed that his father had thought otherwise or that he'd perhaps lead on differently.

Shaking his head, Squall calmly clarified, "In taking care of myself." Certainly he had nothing left to prove in life.

Lore stared earnestly. "I never thought you couldn't," he impressed severely, needing his father to understand him on that singular point.

"…" Squall gave a faint nod. He didn't want to disagree with his son. It was apparent that the boy's lack of trust had not been in himself but in other people, specifically sadistic and perverted men who supposedly lurked on every street corner. Regardless of this distinction, there was no denying that Lore's fear relied on his inability to defend himself. Though he had never claimed to be invincible, he was a good judge of character and capable of fending off the most forceful of advances. Barring Seifer, who was in a different class, Squall couldn't imagine anyone getting close enough to even attack him.

Glancing away ruefully, Lore held his tongue. He wanted to ask what Seifer had done, but he had already resolved not to. "That's all I wanted to say," he said tightly, the words bitter in his mouth. There was so much more he wanted to say, but he was determined to show a little more self-controlled where his father was concerned.

Seeing the inner turmoil his son faced, Squall studied the boy's profile for another moment. He couldn't be certain what was running through the other's mind, but he felt a stab a hurt over having to coax it out. Lore had always confided in him without hesitation, never failing to seek his advice or simply to keep him well informed. Keeping secrets was apparently a double-edged sword.

Sighing, Squall decided he should at least try to find out all of what was bothering his son, even if it meant discussing the fact that Seifer was interested in him. "I was going to make breakfast," he informed as though he'd been in the midst of scrambling eggs when Lore had first entered the kitchen. It wasn't exactly a lie, since he had been up for some time already and planned on making something when the rest of the household ventured from their bedrooms. Laguna was still asleep, but he imagined that wouldn't last much longer. The president had a sixth sense when it came to detecting who was awake.

"I don't have much of an appetite," Lore announced somberly.

Shrugging casually, Squall pushed his chair back and stood. "Your grandfather will be up soon," he stated, not letting on that he was somewhat disheartened by his son's words. He'd hoped to study Lore and tactfully loosen the young man up until everything was finally resolved. Realizing he might simply have to wait until everything played itself out in due time, he suggested, "Maybe you should try to go back to sleep."

Shaking his head, Lore muttered, "I wouldn't be able to sleep any better than before."

Though he didn't comment, Squall's suspicions that there was more troubling his son were confirmed. "Keep me company," he said, more a suggestion than a request.

Pleased that he didn't need to acquire some half-baked excuse to remain in the presence of his father, Lore was content to sip his coffee and watch. If the former commander had read his thoughts, there was nothing in the man's effeminate features that suggested as much. Then again, there was very little his father's expressions ever did suggest. He felt pity for anyone unfortunate enough to sit at the same poker table as Squall Leonhart. A pleased smile flitted across his face as he thought of how he was the one exception to his father's taciturn tendencies. His smile faltered abruptly and his eyes fell to the clean white tile of the floor. He'd been an exception up until a few days ago.

Espying each turn of emotion on his son's face, Squall closed the cupboard door and set a large bowl on the counter. Sighing, he announced, "I'm not like your uncle. I don't handle relationships well." Turning, he found mixed blue-green eyes staring at him ardently with more emotions than he had ever felt in his lifetime. There was question and hope and a perplexing fascination for him to continue speaking. Taking a moment, Squall concluded that while there was no proof that temperaments were hereditary, there was a great deal of Seifer in the boy. Recent weeks had allowed him to see the pair interact, which hadn't simply pointed out what qualities they shared, but shown him a certain hot headed temper that only came out around the ex-knight.

"Dad?" Lore questioned, not wanting to push, but wanting to hear all of what the man was about to say.

Shaking his head to dismiss his ridiculous insecurity that he seemed unable to simply set aside and leave alone, Squall refocused on what he'd been about to say. "I've known Seifer all my life," he said quietly, lost for a moment as he recalled the first time he'd met the older boy at the orphanage. "Even if we aren't friends, it's not easy to throw away whatever we have."

Understanding the principles of what his father was saying, Lore didn't bother even trying to understand the feelings that went with it. To him, the concept of knowing someone for years went hand in hand with being close friends. It seemed preposterous to have known someone a lifetime and not be anything more than well acquainted sparring partners.

"Seifer has made it very clear that he wants something more and I'm just confused. Last Friday, I still needed time to think." He didn't add on that he was still confused, because despite his unmistakable rejection, he couldn't stop thinking about the arrogant asshole.

"Well aren't you Esthar's most sought after bachelor," Laguna jibed, stifling a yawn as he trudged into the kitchen. "It's an ungodly hour," he complained. Stretching a stiff back, he made a beeline for the coffee.

Squall scowled at his father. "Hardly," he muttered.

Lore was still thinking about what his father had said. He considered what it might be like if one of his friends suddenly asked him out. Was it possible to reject someone and not compromise the friendship, or in his father's case rivalry? He hadn't thought about that aspect of it, only that someone who could pose a threat in battle had taken a liking to his dad. "Is your current relationship with him really something worth keeping?" he blurted out before thinking twice. He could understand it if Seifer were a friend, but an old time sparring partner just seemed so dispensable.

Stormy blue eyes widened and Squall very nearly set his shirtsleeve on fire as he turned on the gas burner. He had only spoken to alleviate whatever doubts his son might have, not to sit around the table and have a consult. He considered the question carefully, since he'd need to give a suitable response. Stilling abruptly, he was suddenly aware that he hadn't considered the question himself. Was his relationship with Seifer worth keeping? Even though he had said he never wanted to see the blond again, his words had been said in the heat of the moment. If there was any shred of good in his deceivingly shallow relationship with the ex-knight, it was their spars. Hyne knew he'd missed having a decent opponent and he doubted he would ever forget the feeling. "It is," he said at length, turning and regarding the attentive youth across the room.

Laguna remained unobtrusively observant, busying himself with stirring his coffee. He would never interlope in Squall's affairs, but that hardly meant he was unaware and without his opinions. His didn't object to the pairing of Squall and Cale, but he didn't believe it was a well-suited match. He was a hopeless romantic and knew what falling in love was like, as he'd fallen in love more than once in his life. Squall did not have stars in those bright eyes and there was no length of time that could change it.

While the skillet heated, Squall split his attention and went about preparing breakfast. Eyes glancing over the contents of a somewhat disorganized refrigerator, years of experience took over and he didn't even consciously think about what he should make before his hands worked of their own accord.

Laguna took his seat across from his grandson. He hadn't the first clue what was going on, only that Seifer Almasy was somehow involved and that Lore was unusually glum. Whimsically, he was distracted from figuring out the details as he watched his son retrieve the buttermilk, knowing that flapjacks or grid wall patties were on the horizon.

Straightening up, visibly perking, Lore questioned, "That's what you didn't want to talk about?" He had been almost certain Seifer had tried to force his father into bed, but an odd respect for the ex-knight kept him from believing the man to be a rapist. Given to exaggerated feelings when it came to his father, perhaps his mind had blown things out of proportion and there was little more to it than Seifer finding his father attractive.

"Something like this is a bit difficult for me," Squall reminded. "I'm sorry I made you worry," he added. Had he just lied to his son? He'd certainly colored the matter a different shade than it actually was. The crux of his problem was that he had enjoyed Seifer's forceful touch. He had lead himself to believe that there wouldn't be any confusion if the situation simply involved a jealous rival vying for some time in bed, but that wasn't the case.

Lore bristled. "What are you making?" he queried blithely, appetite returning as his mood lightened.

Smiling softly, Squall sighed in relief. "I thought I'd make grid walls," he replied, well aware that it had been some time since he'd last made them and that it was one of Lore's favorite breakfast foods. In Balamb they were called waffles, but he could no longer recall a time when he'd ever heard that word spoken.

Grinning, Laguna was suddenly impatient for breakfast. He was addicted to his son's cooking, and had only become more particular in his old age. Small delights went a long way for him, especially on weekdays when his workload was heavy. Breakfast with his son and grandson was the best way to start the day.

"Perhaps you should get some work done this morning," Squall commented, doing his part in keeping the president on track. Kiros always requested that he try to nudge his father to accomplish some amount of work while vacationing in their home on weekends.

"I don't like mixing work with family," Laguna protested. Kiros and Squall both had the amazing ability to suggest he work without sounding like a pair of nags. He could hardly deny Squall anything in the world, but he was inclined to sulking if it called for reading and writing.

Squall knew that the Estharian president was one of the most competent and hardworking men alive. What the man lacked in physical grace was made up for in grace of character. While the presidency was hardly a nine to five job, Laguna usually took the weekend off to spend with them. Unfortunately, the president had spent the weekend in an empty apartment and was trying to make up for lost time during the weekday. Consequently, whatever was put off until later would wind up forcing the president to take on late hours. It was Squall's job to make sure his father didn't over extend himself trying to run an entire country.

Subtle in his manner, Squall quietly said, "This is going to take a while, you can probably get some work done before we eat."

Shoulders sagging, Laguna huffed. "I have a few files on hand," he compromised. Was that even a compromise? Realizing it wasn't, he trudged out of the kitchen glumly to retrieve the briefcase Kiros had forced into his hands before leaving for his son's apartment.

Twenty minutes later, Squall plated breakfast. Setting a plate before a paperwork engrossed president, he was amused at how quickly the man switched modes. He waited a moment for Lore to set his laptop aside before unburdening his hands completely.

"Thanks," Lore said before hastily digging in, ravenous after biding his time playing games on his father's laptop with the scent of food in the air.

Squall sat down, silently observing his two companions while thinking to himself.

"Aren't you eating?" Laguna questioned. It had been his mission for the past sixteen years to put more meat on his son's bones, but the former commander was beyond stubborn when it came to eating more than absolutely necessary.

Shrugging noncommittally, Squall didn't give any definitive reason for why he was not partaking in the meal. Not hungry, he wasn't about to force himself to eat when he didn't want to. Ignoring the president's disapproving frown, he glanced at Lore and felt his relief swell. Though he didn't want to cast any premature judgment, he was content in his feeling that things were back to normal. He was curious about something though. "Lore," he began, unable to keep the question to himself any longer, "What were you doing with Seifer until one in the morning?"

Blushing faintly, Lore hastily explained, "Arguing. I refused to leave until he told me what he'd done and intended to do, and he refused to tell me anything."

Surprised, Squall murmured, "So you were with him, trying to," he paused in order to find the right words.

"Wear him down," Lore interjected with a sheepish smile.

Nodding, Squall couldn't help but picture the exchange. His son was stubborn indeed to spend the whole day confronting a brick wall. In a weird way, he was rather proud.

Sharp knocking cut through the warm atmosphere in the kitchen. Sitting straight, Squall ascertained that it was only six-thirty and hardly a decent hour for callers.

"I got it," Squall stated, already out of his seat. "Keep eating." As he moved behind his son, he ruffled dark hair affectionately. Even if he had not been completely honest, he was glad he'd said what he had.

Crossing the flat of the apartment, there was a sense of stillness, as though everyone were still asleep. The knocking hadn't been demanding or loud, which seemed to suggest the caller knew someone would be up and about. It was unusual that he wasn't able to place a face to the sound of the knock, but he wasn't about to wait around until he could figure it out, so he thumbed the door's release on the inconspicuous panel.

Squall felt his composure shatter as he met Seifer's intense green eyes. Mouth agape, he stared at the tall and broad framed man leaning indolently against the doorframe. Eyes wandering with treachery, he gazed over the man's starched red dress shirt tucked neatly into black suit pants. He couldn't help but notice the richly tanned skin exposed where the shirt's buttons were undone, displaying the strong hollow of Seifer's collar. Absently, he wondered what had happened to the blond's choker necklace. Sobering, he quickly pressed parted lips together and stared coolly into jade green eyes.

Witty greeting falling flat, Seifer found himself unable to do much more than hungrily gaze over the surprised little ice prince. The brunet was beyond appealing with messy strands of rich brown hair and pout lips begging to be kissed. He found himself mesmerized by a slender neck, skin so pale it was calling out for him to mark it. Hyne, had it only been a week since he'd last seen the former commander, since he'd last felt that lithe body rock against him and shudder in orgasm? Fearing he was drooling, he licked his lips and valiantly suppressed the urge to tackle and ravish the smaller man.

Regaining his wits, Squall crossed his arms and glared. His stature did all the talking, asking why the blond was there. Inside, he felt unhinged and restless. Images of their last meeting played before his eyes, as if taunting him with what his body so obviously wanted.

Seifer smirked. "Do you know what I'd like to do to you right now?" he questioned huskily, making no effort to hide his lust. How had he never felt this way before? How had he grown up with Leonhart without ever attempting to pin the strangely alluring man to the nearest wall and enjoy that well sculpted body for all the sordid pleasure it was sure to give? More pertinent than how, was why. Why hadn't he made a move sooner, years ago, when some islander prick wasn't posing such a scrupulous problem?

Squall felt his entire body warm, flushing with what could only be considered arousal. His cheeks were a near scarlet, not from desire however, but from feeling abashed. He could read Seifer's thoughts. The sexual tension was tangible and he still had no clue why it was there when in thirty years he'd felt nothing more than rivalry and annoyance.

Nearly groaning at Leonhart's reaction, Seifer tamed his willful libido at the sudden appearance of the kid. Frowning, he was clearly displeased. "Hey," he greeted shortly, his hopes of having his rival alone dashed.

Managing to find his voice, praying it was steady, Squall asked, "What are you doing here?" He was all too aware of young blue-green eyes watching the exchange. He was mortified at what he might accidentally reveal. It was apparent that the ex-knight would behave appropriately in front of Lore, for which was grateful.

Shocked at the unexpected visitor, Lore remarked, "It's not even seven o'clock."

Grinning, Seifer commented, "I know your lovely father has a penchant for rising early."

Squall blanched, staring wide eyed. He was aghast at how shameless the blond was, openly seeking him as though there was no need for discretion or pretense. The first chance he had, he'd wipe that cocky smirk off the man's face. His fury was subdued however, his body too busy reacting to the impertinent blond.

Lore stirred indignantly, hardly about to allow the ex-knight's words to go without argument. It wasn't that he had called his father lovely, but the obvious undertone that seemed to suggest the man had first hand experience in what times the former commander got out of bed. His father beat him to it though.

"Seifer," Squall bit out, his annoyance only heightened by his body's approval of the blond's presence. "Make your case," he ordered, rudely demanding the man give a plausible excuse for being anywhere near him. He was not mentally or physically prepared to see Seifer again, not after what had happened last Wednesday.

Blond eyebrows, a shade darker than the fine gold hair on his head, shot up in false surprise. "Darling, are we still fighting?" he remarked.

Glaring harshly, Squall reached to close the door.

"Wait," Seifer quickly said, daring to reach out and grasp a slim wrist.

Squall recoiled as heat spread from where the Seifer had touched him.

"Dad," Lore started in worry, thinking his father had been hurt. He was stopped by an odd look he received from the dark haired man, assuring him everything was fine but also appearing quite disturbed.

Seifer stared intently, knowing exactly why the brunet had broken away. He had felt it too, his hand still quite warm. If he didn't fuck Leonhart soon, he was going to go insane. Having concocted a decent excuse for being there, he stepped farther in and waved a thick folder he'd been holding out of sight. "I was hoping you could spare some time and help with an inventory."

Almost short of breath, Squall inhaled sharply, becoming aware of a faint woodsy scent coming from the ex-knight. Stubbornly, he refused to reveal what he was thinking or feeling. With a calm regard, he questioned, "Was it necessary that you come here?"

"I didn't want to inconvenience you," Seifer supplied smoothly, having thought of an excuse for every question the former commander might think to ask.

Squall knew a trap when he saw one. The moment he had opened the door, he had lost. The blond had made certain to knock gently, throwing him off guard. From there, it was a losing battle on a field he had no idea how to navigate. He was not guile and never played games. Glaring at the insidious man, he grit his teeth. Though he doubted that anyone would begrudge him for forcibly making Seifer leave, it was truly uncalled for and would be considered poor behavior even if his son weren't watching. His responsibility as a trained fighter was to use his abilities carefully. Considering he wasn't being pinned against a wall or tackled to the floor, he really had no reason to throw punches.

"We can always meet up later," Seifer offered, sincerely making his proposal. If they met later, they could be alone, and perhaps he could cool the heated blood in his veins by bending Leonhart over and having his way with the man. Demeanor darkening, he forced himself to think of something less arousing, lest he compromise all integrity. While his pants felt tighter, it wasn't obvious that he was excited and he needed to keep it that way.

Standing firmly in place, Squall blocked the ex-knight's path into the apartment, and he had little intention of moving any time soon. His mind tried to find a beneficial resolution, but he couldn't think straight. If he met with Seifer right then, he might unintentionally reveal how readily his body responded to the man's touch and intense gaze. If he agreed to meet elsewhere, he feared what would happen if they were left alone. He could set a later time and simply not show up, but that was hardly a permanent solution. Under no circumstances could he be alone with Seifer, yet at the same time he couldn't be in the same room with the man when there were witnesses. He didn't trust himself, which was a very unsettling feeling.

"Are you feeling okay?" Lore questioned in his father's ear, sidling close. The shorter man looked extremely pale. If he didn't know how fearless his father was, he'd dare to say that the man were frightened.

Squall nodded numbly. Coming to a decision, he stepped back and gave the ex-knight tacit permission to enter. He worked well under pressure and hoped the threat of Lore or Laguna seeing his wildly inappropriate desire would effectively uphold his indifferent mask. He was certain he couldn't be alone with the blond, knowing he'd do something unforgivable the second the man touched him. After Seifer left, he resolved to visit Cale and find someway to make up for the unfaithful thoughts he was having.

"What inventory?" Lore asked with forced disinterest, knowing it had to do with weapons. He was far from ever liking the ex-knight, but if his father wanted to remain sparring partners, then he figured he'd have to get used to the man. He was surprised the nerve grating bully hadn't insulted him several times already, but he wasn't complaining.

Grinning, Seifer informed, "Gunblade models mainly. I need to have them ordered now, since half of them need to be custom made." Turning his focus back to Leonhart, he stared into guarded grey-blue eyes and said, "I'd like your input."

"Can I look at it too?" Lore requested, a hint of excitement betraying his attempt to seem utterly disinterested. He was still angry over Saturday, but could hardly go on sulking if he hoped to prove he wasn't some brat with a father complex.

"Your breakfast is getting cold," Laguna's voice called out from the kitchen.

Torn, Lore glanced to his father.

Mustering his steely resolve, Squall gave a terse nod. "Go ahead, we'll wait," he assured.

As Lore whirled around and rushed back to the kitchen, Squall could tell it was done very purposefully. It would seem his son was determined to prove the truth behind believing him capable of dealing with Seifer alone. Sadly, he was now the one to doubt his capabilities.

Seifer moved forward, making to brush past the rigidly standing brunet. He immediately realized he had made a mistake when his control waned. He stopped, towering above the lithe fighter, their arms barely touching. Gazing sidelong, he balled his fist and gripped the folder in his other hand with white knuckles.

Squall broke away first, the threat of exposure motivating him to get as far away as possible. Catching a fast movement out of the corner of his eyes, his heart skipped a beat when Seifer grabbed his upper arm and kept him from moving away. Breathing laboriously, he gasped in thrilling pain when the man squeezed his arm too tightly. Thankfully, his anger managed to boil over, spurring him to tear his arm away and stalk into the apartment.

Staring after the brunet, Seifer took a deep breath to calm himself. There was no doubt in his mind that he'd eventually have his way with the former commander, but he wasn't entirely confident it would be soon enough.

Casting a baleful glare over his shoulder, Squall warned, "Don't touch me."

Seifer could tell there was a subliminal threat of castration should he dare instigate anything. As he watched the brunet walk away, his eyes fixated on that sinfully tantalizing ass, he considered that losing his manhood might be worth screwing the unapproachable ice prince. Shaking his head, he again forced his mind to stop undressing that lithe body.

"Anything for you darling," Seifer mocked, following his former rival into the familiar apartment.

TBC…

Author's Notes: Yay, less than three weeks… but more than two… oh bother. Anyway, I really enjoyed writing this chapter. Thank you all for the awesome, awesome, awesome, and uber supportive reviews. I can't tell you how much I appreciate the feedback. I hoped you enjoyed the lovely tension between Seifer and Squall, it was my favorite part.


	25. Chapter 25

Defining Love

Chapter Twenty-Five

Seifer sat on the couch in Leonhart's apartment, reclining back carefully so as not to strain the fabric of his pants too tightly across his sensitive groin. It would seem no amount of willpower could keep his mind from racing with lewd thoughts, but his ego would not allow his body to dictate his actions. Nonetheless, he was well aware that there was a limit and doubted that he could spend another quarter hour under the pretense of weapon inventory.

Feeling almost antsy, he stood abruptly and paced for a moment. The kid was up and about and he couldn't seem to find a single moment of privacy with Leonhart, but a small part of him was grateful for such circumstances. When he looked into those bright grey-blue eyes, he could see his inner battle mirrored. He was almost proud of the lust he'd incited in the ice prince, but at the same time wary of what might happen should he lose control.

Squall was quite satisfied to glimpse Seifer pacing like a caged animal, obviously suffering as much as he was. It had almost become a game, a test of who had more control.

Feeling that he was no longer alone, Seifer turned about and faced the lithe figure standing in the kitchen's entryway. "Done making tea?" he said tauntingly, suddenly in no mood for airs or gestures of false kindness. The kid was smart enough to know he didn't have a single noble bone in his body, and that his pursuit of Daddy dearest was purely physical.

Jaw clenching, Squall glanced at his watch, sending the message that the ex-knight had over stayed his welcome. It was nearly ten o'clock and with Lore in the shower and Laguna at the presidential palace, there were no chaperones. He simply could not be with Seifer alone, and he wasn't the only one who knew it.

Seifer smirked, pointedly gazing around the large room, now aware that he did have a moment alone with the brunet. "I don't bite," he said darkly, unable to keep from stripping his former rival bare with his eyes. He respected the work that went into keeping that relatively small frame sculpted.

"You do actually," Squall returned, not budging from his place in the doorway. He was clearly reluctant to move any closer to the ex-knight, which only served to solidify that he was attracted to the man. If he felt nothing, then there shouldn't have been anything to stay away from.

With a mirthless chuckle, Seifer strode to the sliding glass doors and gazed outside without any interest in the buildings he saw across the street. "I want you, Leonhart," he stated plainly, tiring of the fighter's continued resistance.

Squall finally strayed from his place, leaving behind the safety of distance. "That's your problem," he informed evenly, sitting down on the couch and scanning the strewn weapon magazines and order forms on the rectangular coffee table.

"No," Seifer remarked snidely, turning back and staring at the former commander intensely. "It's your problem too, because I'm not a patient man."

Swallowing thickly, Squall felt his stomach flutter, not an entirely unpleasant feeling. Licking his lips, he reminded, "You're jealous, Seifer. Put your ego aside for once and let it go." If Seifer was simply jealous, then where did he stand as far as excuses went? What was his excuse for returning the man's lust? With a scowl, he grew indignant. He did not like what was happening at all.

Scoffing, Seifer questioned with distain, "Why are you even dating this guy?" Referring to the white haired islander, he saw no valid reason for Leonhart to be with some bowtie wearing professor.

Glaring coolly, Squall made it clear that he was not pleased with the topic. He did not want Cale dragged into it. He did not want to pit the kind professor against the jealous ex-knight, because making Seifer a rival for his affections would give meaning to the heartless lust between them. "It's not your business," he said at length, hardly compelled to list legitimate reasons for any of his relationships.

"Then let's make it my business. If this prick is standing in my way, I'll make it my mission to find out everything about him. If you won't tell me, then that leaves one other option."

Eyes narrowing, Squall warned, "Leave Cale alone."

Seifer was struck by the brunet's apparent protectiveness. Angered, he threatened, "I suppose I should introduce myself. I wonder if he knows the history we share."

Squall would have felt threatened if he hadn't already come clean with Cale on Saturday. "He knows enough," he stated cryptically, unwilling to admit that Seifer's advances were something he had deemed as an act of infidelity on his part. Though he imagined it was already quite obvious that he wouldn't mind sleeping with the ex-knight, or at least his body wouldn't object.

"Dad," Lore spoke with a detectible note of worry, approaching from the hallway that branched off from the main flat. Staring for a long moment, Lore eventually asked, "Do I have practice today?" He knew the answer, but had needed something to say when he felt like he had intruded at an awkward moment. It was strange considering that the atmosphere between them had been fine before he'd left to take a shower and dress for the day.

"No," Squall assured. Even the city government buildings are closed, so there was no question about whether Lore had soccer practice.

Frowning, Seifer turned away and stared resolutely out the balcony doors once more. He could see no satisfying end to his visit that day. "I should go," he announced, not needing the frustration that came with Leonhart's pert ass being within reach yet untouchable. "See me out," he added demandingly, requiring a few moments alone with the stubborn brunet before he left.

Scowling, Squall made a point of glancing across the room to the apartment's front door, indicating the utter ridiculousness in showing the ex-knight out. When the blond gathered the strewn mess on the coffee table and stood expectantly, he rolled his eyes. Standing, he strode towards the apartment's entryway.

Towering above the former commander, Seifer made certain there was as little distance between them as possible without actually touching. "A few moments if you please," he muttered with mocking politeness while glancing back at the fidgeting kid.

Glaring, Lore muttered darkly beneath his breath before storming back down the hallway to give his father privacy. He loathed the ex-knight at that moment. He was torn between wanting to protect his father and wanting to prove that he was not inclined to behaving like some jealous lover.

Grinning his amusement over the raven-haired boy's short display, Seifer quickly sobered when he gazed down into steely blue eyes. Taking a somewhat unsteady breath, he felt his loins fill with need. Not quite daring to touch the annoyingly stubborn brunet, he simply stared.

Squall's agitation slowly faded, giving way to intense arousal. He felt as though green eyes could see through every bit of clothing he had on. Impassive demeanor breaking, his lips parted to take in a tremulous breath.

Seifer searched coolly guarded eyes, waiting for the moment when that icy wall fell and revealed the lust he had seen earlier. At the sight of a pink tongue darting out to wet plush lips, his focus wavered.

Squall caught the flickering gaze, knowing the blond was looking at his lips. Reading the man's thoughts, which were completely in tune with his own, he waited with mounting anticipation. It was so wrong. There was simply no excuse, but he presently felt as though he had no control. The predatory gleam in green eyes seemed to impair his ability to think and act rationally.

Seeing the willingness in Leonhart's gaze, Seifer slowly reached a hand up. Cupping a delicate chin, he ran his thumb over a pout bottom lip, feeling its softness in contrast to his calloused digit. "You're playing a dangerous game," he warned, his throbbing manhood all too aware of how the brunet wasn't pulling back.

Chest rising and falling in quick succession, Squall spoke against the ex-knight's thumb, "You're the only one playing games here." His words were accusing, but his tone was expectant. Heart drumming faster, he felt certain Seifer was about to kiss him.

Eyes sharpening, Seifer seized narrow shoulders and roughly jerked Leonhart closer, his folder dropping to the floor. Acting on instinct, he crushed the brunet's mouth his own. Waiting for no invitation, he pushed soft lips apart with his tongue and demanded entrance.

Lost, Squall succumbed to an insistent tongue. His mouth was suddenly filled with the ex-knight's wet appendage and all rational thought fled his mind. A muffled cry escaped him when a gruff hand unexpectedly slid beneath the waist of his jeans and groped his buttocks.

Seifer had wanted to touch Leonhart's ass for some time and contented himself to cop a rough feel while he had the chance. Kneading the soft flesh he continued to plunder Leonhart's sweetly tasting mouth. He groaned as tentative fingers slid along his shoulders and around to the nape of his neck. The touch left searing heat in its wake. Feeling the form in his hold begin to tremble, he took a step closer to the wall and pinned responsive fighter.

Squall allowed himself to be directed, unable to form a single coherent thought. His body felt strangely weak as a heady lust coursed through him. He was completely intoxicated.

Nipping at slick lips, Seifer became violent in his need to taste Squall. He simply couldn't get enough. The brunet was like some sort of fucking drug, and he wanted more.

Clutching to the back of the ex-knight's shirt collar, Squall shivered compulsively as every inch of his body was in contact with the blond's. Hard muscles kept him pressed against an equally hard wall. His senses were overwhelmed by the touch and taste of his former rival. The faint woodsy cologne was stronger, a distinct scent he enjoyed. He gave off an embarrassing simper when the man bit his lip sharply, almost drawing blood.

"Wider," Seifer growled in demand, explaining why he had bit the brunet in reprimand.

Complying before even understand what the ex-knight wanted, Squall opened his mouth wider to accept with man deeper. He couldn't recall ever kissing someone so deeply before.

What Seifer wasn't doing with his manhood, he was doing with his tongue. He was pleased that the ice prince was quite skilled at kissing. A jealous notion formed in the back of his mind that Leonhart had gotten good with practice, practice involving other men. Stabbing his tongue deeper, he roved the brunet's mouth violently while throwing mental accusations at the man. Finally, when the distant notion grew, he broke away abruptly.

Squall whined quietly at the sudden loss. Panting, he opened his eyes a bit and slowly focused on the ex-knight's roguishly seductive features.

Having no control over his emotions, Seifer squeezed the former commander's shoulders tightly. "Who else have you done this with?" he demanded accusingly.

It took Squall a moment to recognize the fury in the blond's voice. Confused, his brows drew together as his mind attempted to think clearly.

"Who else?" Seifer demanded, shaking the brunet roughly. He was too wound up to even think about tempering his anger.

"No one," Squall answered with a very vague understanding of what it was the ex-knight wanted from him. "Not like this," he added, consumed with the knowledge that he had never felt such overwhelming passion.

"Dammit," Seifer cursed, sneering at his rival's obvious lie. Regardless of knowing that he wasn't the first to taste the attractive man, he was inexplicably soothed by those lust-dazed words. Dipping lower, he claimed swollen lips again.

Meeting the man's hungry mouth, Squall hastily drew that demandingly invasive tongue back in, twining it with his own. His brief moment of clarity vanished and his worries about being caught became nonexistent. Fingers playing with the fine hair at the nape of the ex-knight's neck, he pressed impossibly closer.

Slipping a thigh between Leonhart's legs, Seifer pressed his hips forward more firmly. His arousal was more than a slight bulge in his pants, it was rock hard and tenting the dark fabric across his groin. He was literally consumed with lust.

Squall could feel the entire length of Seifer's manhood pressing against his stomach. He could tell the ostentatious man was not over compensating for anything, and such knowledge made him shiver with a distant ache for something he couldn't identify. The heat between them was almost too much to handle, but he could not pull away.

"Squall!"

Hearing the distantly familiar voice, Squall ignored the call. It wasn't until a stern hand not belonging to Seifer clamped down on his upper arm that his eyes snapped open in surprise. Kiss broken, the heat turned abruptly cold and he was filled with dread.

"Fuck off, Kinneas!" Seifer snapped as the unwelcome gunman tried to pry between himself and the sweetly surrendering brunet.

"Get the hell out of here, Almasy!" Irvine returned, using every ounce of his strength to shove the formidable blond back. Successful, if only because he had the better leverage, he stepped between the wildly lustful pair. Arm reaching out to make certain he couldn't be removed from Squall's side, he pulled his friend close while drawing his gun and taking aim.

Beyond livid, there was no word that could properly express the level of pernicious intent flashing in jade-green eyes. Barely able to hold back, Seifer glared balefully while panting.

"Irvine," Squall began in alarm. He hadn't even detected the gunman's presence. Registering what the auburn haired man must have seen, his dread grew. He was still breathless from kissing the ex-knight and couldn't imagine a worse state to be found in.

"We'll talk later," Irvine assured, gently squeezing the form he held steadily against his side. If his keen senses were correct, the former commander was too weak kneed to stand properly.

"Kinneas," Seifer began slowly, voice wavering in his barely contained anger, "I already told you to stay out of my way." In fact, it had been an order he had beaten into the sharp shooter.

Jaw clenching, Irvine wasn't about to argue his standing in the matter. "Out," he directed again, violet-blue eyes never blinking. "I'm a sore loser too, Almasy, and I'm not so honorable that I won't take revenge with this gun."

As Squall stared into the ex-knight's eyes, he saw a man he didn't recognize. He had seen the blond angry before, but never so completely consumed with fury. "Irvine," he began, tugging at the gunman's long brown duster. He had the sick realization that it wasn't the first time the pair had faced off, but he knew what both men were capable of and did not want to see Irvine hurt or forced to commit some regrettable act.

Expression tight and strained, Seifer tried to calm down. He had always been cautious of his short temper, being that he was a man capable of terrible destruction. He could not fight Kinneas in such a state. He would end up killing the gunman, either intentionally or accidentally. Balling his fists, he sneered viciously before stalking away. He didn't look back or bother to retrieve the folder he had dropped. The amount of anger he felt inside and lack of control he had over it was frightening. He knew it was time to cool his head when he became afraid of his own actions.

Even as the ex-knight jammed the elevator button, he battled himself for control. He hated losing control. First he couldn't stop touching his pretty boy rival, and then he had seen red so violently that he would have likely taken the gunman's life.

Back in the apartment, Irvine stood frozen for a moment, heart beating rapidly. Somehow, he felt as though he had narrowly escaped with his life. Seifer Almasy was more than a threat to Squall's relationship with Cale, the ex-knight was a threat in the worst sense of the word.

Squall stared after Seifer, unconscious of how tightly he was gripping the front of Irvine's coat. He was so confused and mixed up inside that he didn't know what to think. The fact that he was sincerely concerned for the ex-knight wasn't helping when his focus needed to be more self-centered.

Hand to his mouth to keep from making any noise, Lore stood pressed against the wall adjacent to the entryway. He hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but he had only intended to give Seifer a couple minutes alone with his father. What he had stumbled upon was a sight so shocking that he had been completely dumbfounded. His first instinct had been to hide, lest his father know he had seen. To his shame, he had just stood there like a deer caught in headlights, listening and panicking inside. His uncle's sudden arrival seemed a godsend.

Starting abruptly, Lore quietly moved away. Unable to reach his room fast enough, his heart was beating madly. It wasn't until he closed his bedroom door that he began to breath again. Stumbling to his bed, he collapsed and tried to make sense of what he had just witnessed. Swallowing dryly, he realized that his father was sleeping with Seifer. He had been lied to.

--

Gently tugging at silky strands of dark brown hair, Cale tried to pull Squall off before he came. "Squall," he called, his voice deep with arousal.

Panting, Squall lifted his head, releasing the professor's slick manhood from his mouth. If he weren't doing it right, he would prefer some form of instruction or indication of what else to do. "What?" he questioned, mildly irritated at feeling like an unskilled cadet again.

"I'm close," Cale explained, head falling back against the couch for a moment.

Frowning, Squall didn't understand why it was necessary for him to stop in order to know that.

Starting at the feel of wet heat surrounding his throbbing length once more, Cale jerked upright and quickly elaborated, "You don't have to do that."

Pulling off once again, slightly perturbed that his fumbling attempt to pleasure the islander was not having the desired effect, Squall glanced up. "Is it wrong?" he asked bluntly.

"Hyne no," Cale exclaimed. "I mean you don't need to…" he trailed off, crimson eyes watching as the former commander ignored his words and dipped back down to surround him. Forgetting his attempts to warn the brunet, he cried out and gripped soft hair.

Bitter release filling his mouth, Squall swallowed the thick fluid reflexively. Considering it was his first time servicing a man, the soldier in him was eager to perfect the act. The taste wasn't as repulsive as he had believed it would be, but heavy and sweet.

"Squall," Cale called, gently tugging silky hair again. "That's enough, please."

"…" Releasing the softening length, Squall gave the professor a confused look.

Tucking himself away, Cale hastily assured, "You were great." Seeing doubt in stormy blue eyes, he sighed. He was not a foolish man. He might have been completely in love with the laconic brunet, but he was hardly naïve. "When we're together, I want it to be just us," he explained. The honest fighter had confessed to sharing a kiss with Seifer Almasy earlier that day. He would have been an idiot not to see some connection between Squall's confession and the sudden aggressiveness in determinedly servicing him.

Brows furrowed, Squall pointed out, "We're the only ones here."

Smiling wryly, Cale pulled the lithe fighter up onto the couch. Drawing the man close, he kissed plush lips softly. "I said that I forgive you. I will always forgive you," he murmured. "You don't need to feel guilty like this. There is nothing to make up for."

Wrought with guilt, Squall realized there was no covering that he was trying to somehow compensate for being with Seifer. "You should be angry," he pointed out.

Smiling against soft lips, Cale asked jokingly, "Is that what you want?"

Frowning, Squall pulled away and stared into smiling crimson eyes. How could Cale smile? "Why?" he murmured.

Smile faltering, Cale's gazed sobered. "After you told me what happened the first time, I realized something," he explained calmly. "I wasn't being fair to you."

Scowling, Squall glanced away. How was Cale the bad guy in such a situation?

"I can't force you to love me," Cale stated. "I also can't force you to remain completely loyal when you've had so little time to adjust." Being more than friends was a very vague concept. He had thought Squall was comfortable with their relationship and had accepted him as a boyfriend. He now realized that his assumptions were premature. Squall still needed time to adjust, and even more time to fall in love. He wouldn't pressure the former commander into it, and could hardly demand absolute loyalty.

"…" Disparaged, Squall realized his loyalty was being questioned. He prided himself on being loyal and trustworthy, but sorely understood that Cale had every right to doubt him. His integrity was nonexistent when he had so blindly fallen prey to some insane lust. He was a fool to have become involved with Seifer twice.

"Not loyal," Cale asserted quickly, too late to save the former commander from appearing entirely crestfallen. "'Exclusive' is what I meant," he assured, unable to undo the damage. "I can't ask that you never look at anyone else when you never would have accepted me without being pressured."

"I wasn't pressured," Squall muttered. He had been encouraged by Irvine, but never pressured. He made his own decisions. His decision to become romantically involved with the man seated next to him had been his own.

"All I'm saying is that I understand. He's a very attractive man, but I trust that you want to be with me." It was the only hope Cale had.

Quirking a brow, Squall regarded the crimson-eyed professor dubiously. It didn't quite make sense to him.

Not wanting to carry on under such a strained atmosphere, Cale tried to lighten the mood and move on. "He's not my type of course," he stated airily, smiling faintly in a show of good faith.

Studying kind eyes for a long moment, Squall sighed. He supposed his guilt was sufficient punishment for betraying such a man. It killed him to think how similar Cale and Laguna were. There was a shared characteristic of warmhearted kindness. He was afraid of ruining the islander, of crushing the man's heart. It was too great a responsibility and Seifer was too great a threat, yet he was weak against both men and could not refuse Cale despite his fears of truly hurting him in the very near future.

Forcing a small smile, Squall slid closer into open arms. "Then what's your type?" he inquired quietly, playing along and pretending like they didn't have more to discuss.

"Sexy brunets," Cale replied succinctly, happily drawing the former commander close.

Squall gave a soft hum in return, nipping at the professor's ear.

"Devastatingly beautiful," Cale added, warming under Squall's ministrations. "Seductive, strong…" he trailed off, losing the ability to articulate clearly when soft lips trailed along his neck.

Squall felt a surprising jolt of pleasure run through him when strong hands groped his buttocks. Realizing that the touch was reminiscent of the ex-knight's, he became acutely aware of the same distant longing he had felt earlier that day. It pained him to continue making comparisons, but he was willing to do so if it was Cale his body was reacting to. He was curious why it felt so good.

Taking notice that the brunet was reacting to something, Cale tentatively repeated his groping action.

Arching instinctively, Squall's eyes widened in shock when a moan escaped him.

Thinking he had found an erogenous area, Cale was all too enthused to exploit it.

Rendered thoughtless, Squall was surprised to find his body responding so heatedly. Muffling the shameful noises he was making, he sought Cale's lips and let the man swallow each pleasured sound.

Stilling abruptly, Cale stopped himself before his hand slipped into the brunet's pants. With some reluctance, he ended their kiss. He perceived what it was the fighter's body wanted. Clearing his throat, he felt compelled to seek permission before taking the next step. "Squall," he called meekly, knowing his reticent lover disliked being asked for permission.

"Why'd you stop?" Squall returned in disappointment, head falling against a broad shoulder.

"Is it okay?"

Frowning, Squall raised his head from the crook of the white haired man's neck. "Is what okay?" he questioned, not exactly bothering to consider why it felt so good just to have his ass groped. A part of him understood that his pleasure was mostly anticipatory, some baser instinct calling out for something that he hadn't received yet. He didn't know what it was he really wanted or why his body felt such aching need, but he had been certain Cale was getting closer to giving him what he wanted.

Feeling confident he needed to receive permission, Cale commented, "We never discussed this."

Growing frustrated, Squall sat back. Having shifted sometime during the islander's fondling ministrations, he was straddling the man's lap.

"Do you have any experience?" Cale asked bluntly, needing to know if he was dealing with a virgin or not. He would not compromise the man he loved for any reason. His sexual preferences were strictly dominant, but he would play whatever role Squall did not want to take on.

Desires cooling, Squall settled down and realized the islander was being wholly serious. Serious or not, the younger man had asked a ridiculous question. "Yes," he muttered, suspecting the question had been too ridiculous and that he was missing something.

Cale was a bit relieved. It made sense considering the former commander's apparent sensitivity. The man's body obviously knew the pleasures of being a bottom.

Frowning, Squall grudgingly murmured, "What do you mean exactly?"

Tensing, Cale gazed pleadingly into stormy blue eyes. Not wanting to be crude about it, he eventually asked, "Have you ever had sex with another man?" Depending on the answer he received, he would become more specific.

Squall shook his head.

Not responding for a long moment, Cale gave a somewhat apologetic smile and removed his hands from the slim hips. He wouldn't consider it a problem exactly, but it was an issue that needed to be addressed at some point. Better sooner than later anyway.

Having thought they would progress further, Squall was disappointed. Resigned to listening to the professor before fooling around some more, he slid from the man's lap and sat obediently on the couch. Hardly oversexed, he was simply growing accustomed to having someone he could seek release with.

Clearing his throat, Cale explained, "When we do eventually make love, I'd like to be inside you." He tried to have faith in the future prospect, that there would definitely be a time when Squall came to love him.

For several awkward moments, Squall simply stared uncomprehendingly. At length, understanding dawned and a faint blush crept to his cheeks. He felt like such a cadet at that moment. Of course he had known sex between two men required one man to take on the role of the woman. He also knew it wasn't necessarily the less fulfilling role, though he was not privy to how or why it felt good.

"If you'd rather," Cale began in a tone of obvious discomfort.

Squall held a hand up, cutting the professor off. He might be inexperienced when it came to sex with another man, but he was not a child that needed to be accommodated at every turn. Proving he understood and that it wasn't a taboo to discuss frankly, he commented, "You mean to fuck me."

Abhorring the idea that he should ever simply wish to _fuck_ the man he loved, Cale's expression darkened. "Hardly," he returned indignantly.

Stormy blue eyes softened, dropping the guard that so easily fell into place when he became unsettled. "I didn't mean it like that," he said quietly. "I just meant that it's fine."

Reaching for the composed beauty's hand, Cale brought it slowly to his lips, gently kissing it. "You would tell me if you didn't like something, wouldn't you?" he questioned somberly.

Sighing, Squall started forward. Slowly, brushing against the professor as much as possible, he straddled the man's lap again. Aware that crimson eyes were watching him intently while awaiting his answer, he settled in comfortably before replying, "I would trust you to make it feel good."

Not receiving the answer he had expected, Cale studied the effeminate features of the lithe fighter. Squall had no idea how hopelessly addicted he was to every moment they were together, every touch and word spoken. He felt as though his entire life up until the day he first met the president's son had been meaningless.

"I'm curious," Squall informed, hands unbuttoning the professor's shirt in an attempt to instigate their earlier activities.

Swallowing thickly, Cale felt his desires stirring. "Curious?" he questioned carefully.

Opening the professor's shirt, Squall ran his hands along the man's exposed chest. "Can you make something like that feel good?"

Cale detected an undertone of challenge in the former commander's voice. More than willing to show the brunet such a pleasure, he excitedly toppled the man onto the couch. With renewed vigor, he set about giving Squall a very pleasured experience.

TBC…

Author's Note: Hmm, well the chapter didn't turn out as planned, but sometimes it can't be helped. I hope you liked it. The next chapter will finally bring some lemony goodness to this fic, but I won't give anything else away. I also have a one-shot that's almost finished. It's a threesome involving Seifer + Irvine / Squall. And, I've been struck with another idea for a one-shot that's only Irvine/Squall, so I'll be posting a couple PWPs soon.


	26. Chapter 26

**Warning: **Mature content, NC17. No underage readers please.

**Author's Note: **To save myself from flying objects, not only have I been practicing my dodging technique, but I am also going to warn everyone of what's going to happen in this chapter. Seifer and Squall are far from declaring their undying love for each other, so a lemon between them at this point is not _making love_. They have sex, that's it… and it's probably not what anyone was looking forward to either. I will state once again that the rocky road to Seifer/Squall goodness will smooth out, I promise.

Defining Love

Chapter Twenty-Six

At a firing range in the twentieth district, Squall accompanied Irvine while the gunman practiced. Fairly skilled with a gun himself, he decided some target practice might help clear his mind or at least relieve some stress.

"So there was an actual reason for your being in Esthar," Squall commented as they made their way to the shooting stations.

"More than one," Irvine drawled. "There's a competition tomorrow, but I also felt like visiting."

"…" Squall didn't exactly want to admit that he felt the gunman's timing had been inauspicious, because that would subsequently be admitting he had wanted to go further with the ex-knight.

Setting up with practiced ease, Irvine adjusted his hat and removed his custom-made earplugs from one of the pockets in his long leather duster. With various firearms stored neatly in the black duffel bag he toted, he gingerly spread several guns out on the ledge along the firing window. Familiar excitement coursed through him as he loaded his first weapon for some preliminary warm ups. Sobering after a few relishing moments, he remembered he had more than a competition to think about. "I take it you and Cale are no longer involved," he said evenly, not betraying his disappointment or disapproval. It wasn't his place to make Squall date the doting professor, but he was hard pressed to stand idly by while an arrogant asshole took Cale's place. No good could possibly come from Seifer chasing after Squall.

Stationed next to the professional sharpshooter, Squall stood with a depressing aura of unending frustration. He was dressed casually in a pair of well-worn slim jeans given to him by Lore on his last birthday, and a black tank top to welcome the warm weather. Gritting his teeth, he hastily donned his ear protection before raising his firearm and letting loose at the bull's eye target fifty feet away. Somewhat aware that he had fired without allowing Irvine to avoid the loud noise, he knew the man was used to it and only wore protection against the loudest of lethal toys.

Mildly surprised, Irvine stilled his preparation and stared curiously at the former commander. He became suspicious when the brunet didn't cease firing until emptying the entire clip. Glancing out his own station window, he studied the skilled fighter's demolished target. Every bullet had hit near the center, but it was erratic and he knew Squall's steady aim could easily rival his own with a little practice. It was obvious his friend was greatly troubled.

Exhaling, Squall relaxed his squared shoulders. "Cale forgave me," he mumbled quietly, not bothering to remove the bulky headset.

"He forgave you?" Irvine questioned incredulously, setting his gun down.

Stormy blue eyes glanced sidelong to read the gunman's lips. Squall nodded gravely. Reaching up, he removed the ear protection for the sake of hearing Irvine's opinion.

Scoffing, Irvine surmised, "It's because he's afraid."

Squall studied the auburn haired man for a long moment. "Of?" he intoned in question, hand hovering near his small arsenal to choose his next gun.

Not exactly relieved by the news that his match-made couple was still together, Irvine considered the professor's continued forgiveness. Realizing that it wasn't forgiveness at all, but desperation, he became furious at the ex-knight's interference. "Squall," he began in a chastising tone, "the man isn't stupid. He knows you're not head over heals for him, but he doesn't want to lose his chance to be with you. You could screw a different person every night right in front of him, and he would still want you back."

Scowling darkly, Squall stared intently at the distant target. "I hate what I become around him," he murmured to himself.

"Seifer?" Irvine questioned, hearing the softly spoken words.

Nodding, Squall continued to stare vacantly. "Why?" he muttered.

"Why what?"

Jaw clenching, Squall glanced over into violet-blue eyes. "Why do I feel so strongly around him? Why now?" He had known Seifer all his life and never once had he harbored a single inappropriate feeling for the man. Yet, now whenever he was in the ex-knight's presence, he was consumed with lust.

Irvine couldn't answer the swordsman. "I don't know," he admitted, pausing to think about it. "Maybe…"

"Maybe?" Squall prompted, knowing the gunman had an aptitude for such matters.

"Maybe you've always been attracted to him on some level."

Shaking his head, Squall refuted, "He was a good sparring partner, but that was it."

"And now?" Irvine inquired. He was bothered that even he couldn't understand it.

Scoffing, Squall removed the clip in his gun and reloaded. "I still can't stand him," he stated.

"But you would like to sleep with him," Irvine added for the brunet.

"…" Grey-blue eyes narrowed slightly, taking offense. Unable to refute the gunman's words, Squall didn't respond.

Sighing, Irvine asked bluntly, "What turns you on?"

Faltering, Squall lowered the headset he had been about to put back on. Wide eyed, he stared at his companion incredulously.

Shrugging impassively, Irvine commented, "I'm trying to understand the attraction. Is it his strength or because you have a fetish for blonds?"

With a scowl, Squall informed, "I don't have a fetish for anything."

Hardly thinking it was the ex-knight's hair color that attracted the former commander, Irvine was simply making a point. "A lot of people don't even know they have fetishes. There are patterns though, where you'd normally just assume someone had a penchant for a certain hair color or body type. It's along the same lines as having a fetish."

Considering the ridiculous notion, Squall soundly pointed out, "My track record isn't long enough to show a pattern." If there were any fetishes to be found, celibacy would be most likely.

Humming to himself in thought, Irvine decided to think about for a bit. "Let me think. It'll come to me while shooting."

Nodding in agreement, Squall conceded that it would be best to let the gunman practice before burdening the man with all his problems. Lately, he felt as though he relied too heavily on Irvine, but he really didn't feel confident that he could sort matters out on his own.

--

Seifer loosened the knot of his tie, regretting his choice of clothing while walking beneath the midday sun to his car. Acting as his own go-for boy, he had left his makeshift office inside the training stadium to retrieve some files from his car. With nothing particularly distracting about placing one foot in front of the other and moving in a straight line, his mind began to think about his former rival. He had tried to keep busy, knowing that once he began to remember yesterday's kiss he would become both aroused and angry.

Running a hand through short blond hair, smoothing the strands back, he undid the top most button of his crisp white dress shirt. Thoughts of Leonhart only served to make his body hotter. Hating how he had lost control, he also hated how he had not been allowed to lose control long enough to consummate the raw need burning inside him.

He had slept fitfully until dawn, images of a passionately submissive brunet ailing his mind the entire time. Icy showers did nothing to cool his libido.

Reaching his car, he paused before unlocking it. Through the tinted windows, he could not see into the backseat, but he knew what was there. Wavering with uncharacteristic indecision, he glanced back at the looming structure of his training center. The construction was ahead of schedule thanks to his diligence. He could certainly afford to take the afternoon off.

As soon as the prospect of ditching work to seek Leonhart out was in his head, Seifer was quick to act. Behind the wheel, he dialed the foreman's cell phone to inform the man of his absence. Needing no excuses to leave, he would need one to see the resistant ice prince.

Recalling the papers he had left behind, he realized with amusement that he already had the perfect excuse.

--

"This is unnecessary," Squall stated. Reluctant to discuss personal matters in a public place, he felt it would be prudent to return to his apartment for lunch rather than eat at the small diner the gunman had driven to.

Adjusting his Stetson hat, Irvine assured, "It's fine." His real motive for bringing the brunet to a remote location was to finish their earlier conversation and break the news that Lore had witnessed the kiss. It was best that the devoted father know in order to reprioritize.

Squall went along, sensing there was a hidden reason for the gunman's insistence. Moving automatically, he didn't absorb his surroundings until he had taken his seat. The diner called The Card House wasn't milling with the crowd he had expected, removing his concern of any eavesdroppers. He hadn't made headlines recently, but rumors of an affair with Seifer would certainly constitute some interest among gossipers.

Removing his hat and setting it beside him, Irvine straightened and glanced over the brunet's shoulder at the next booth. Nodding, he gestured to it and informed, "Last time I was here, I sat over there with Lore."

At the mention of his son, Squall was compelled to glance behind and see the booth regardless of how utterly pointless doing so was. Regarding the gunman again, he frowned. "What time is the competition?" he questioned, intent on attending.

Waving a hand dismissively, Irvine assured, "We can get right to the point."

Frown deepening, Squall commented, "It seems our time together is always accommodating my life."

Violet-blue eyes softened. "Well, if it'll make you frown less while we're together, I'd gladly solve all your problems."

Scowling now, Squall didn't hide his disapproval.

"Sorry," the gunman interjected, realizing his selfless leader hated being catered to. "As your friend, I worry anyway. If you didn't confide in me, I would only worry more."

With a sigh, Squall leaned back against the cushioned seat and relaxed a bit. "I assume there is a good reason why you want to keep me out," he said.

"There is, but let's concentrate on you and Seifer first."

Wary, Squall eyed the gunman suspiciously. "Okay," he agreed at length.

"For starters, let's set aside trying to understand why you feel what you do for him," Irvine suggested knowingly, realizing they would never get anywhere if they were stuck on such a question.

Reluctant to skip the question that was bothering him the most, Squall tacitly consented and gave a look for the gunman to continue. Before the man could speak further though, a teenage waitress approached.

"Your menus, sirs," the young waitress said, handing off two menus to both men.

"Thanks darlin'," Irvine drawled, the words automatic yet sounding intentionally flirtatious.

Blushing from ear to ear, the girl's eyes shot shyly to the tabletop and refused to meet the strangely colored eyes of the rakishly handsome man with long auburn hair. "Would you like drinks while you decide?"

"After you," Irvine said courteously, smirking at the sour expression that overcame the former commander's face. Terribly temperamental over the littlest things, it was a wonder he enjoyed being friends so much. He supposed knowing exactly what set the brunet off made it more entertaining than bothersome. Knowing his stoic companion was not going to request a drink first, if only to spite him, he drawled, "I'll have a lemon tea."

Sighing, Squall mumbled, "Make that two." He resented any courtesy generally reserved for women, simply because he had competed against his effeminate appearance all his life. Irvine was poking fun at him, and if he needed his friend's advice any less, he would have sent a warning glare telling the man not to push his buttons.

Violet-blue eyes watched the waitress leave, involuntarily glancing at swaying hips. Irvine was a devoted husband and the waitress was probably half his age, but some habits couldn't be broken. "Sorry," he muttered, returning his attention to the sulking brunet. "Sometimes I can't help myself."

Squall rolled his eyes, wondering what it was the gunman was apologizing for exactly.

"So where were we?" Irvine redirected, giving the pale man a disarming grin.

Bowed lips pressed tightly together, Squall took a few moments before responding. "We were setting aside the root of the problem," he said, his tone expressing an obvious desire to address the matter.

"Why you like the bastard is hardly the root," Irvine said in disagreement. "Even if you understand that much, it won't change how you currently feel."

Considering it for a moment, Squall realized his apt advisor was right. Crossing his arms, he proposed, "Perhaps I should get a restraining order." If he couldn't understand why he felt such desire around Seifer, then the simplest solution seemed to be to ignore it and never let the ex-knight's presence stir it up again.

Irvine couldn't help but laugh. It was like making the decision to fumigate after spotting a spider in the bathroom. Laughter faltering abruptly, images of the ex-knight's forceful domination surfaced in his mind. "Yes," he said, reconsidering such a drastic measure. The anger in Almasy's eyes had been frightening, and he didn't scare easily. He would never have a moment's peace if he knew Almasy was lurking nearby to jump Squall.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Squall informed, "I wasn't actually serious." Seifer was not at fault, at least no more than he was. "It does seem best not to be around him." Bitterly, he reiterated, "I hate this. Why does it feel like I have no control?"

As Irvine banished the images in his head and concentrated on counseling his friend, his expression softened with sympathy. "I can relate," he assured. "It's almost magnetic. Once you're too close, there is no escape. When you're apart, you blame yourself and feel foolish for being weak."

Stormy blue eyes widened. That was exactly how Squall felt. Wanting to know what the gunman's experience had been in such a situation, he urged, "Tell me."

"Here you are," the young waitress cut in, carefully setting a steaming cup of tea before the longhaired man. Blushing faintly, he repeated the action while curiously eyeing the only man she had met that she would call beautiful.

"Thank you kindly," Irvine drawled politely.

Clearing her throat meekly, the waitress tore her eyes from the strangely androgynous man before she was caught ogling a customer. "Would you like to hear today's lunch specials?"

Glancing to his stoic friend, Irvine doubted the meager eater would consume more than a few bites of anything. "No, we're ready to order," he replied. Pausing a moment while the waitress readied herself to jot the order down, he informed, "I'll have the seared salmon. No side dishes, just the salmon." He practically knew the menu by heart even though he hadn't been able to frequent The Card House since his move to Trabia.

Squall glanced at the untouched menu in front of him. Though he hadn't given any consideration to what he wanted to eat, he knew right away that he really didn't want anything.

"And you, sir?" the waitress prompted.

Squall shook his head.

"Nothing for him," Irvine interjected, knowing that strangers couldn't read the brunet's many gestures.

"Alright, I'll be back with your order shortly."

Waiting until the waitress was out of earshot, Irvine commented, "You really should eat more."

"…"

"Right," Irvine agreed, not knowing why he bothered chastising the slim fighter when his efforts remained fruitless after sixteen years. Returning to the topic on the table, he informed, "My experience is with women. To this day, if there is a beautiful woman in sight, my eyes are glued and my mind is racing."

Squall scowled. "And Selphie?" he questioned tightly, not liking the implication that the gunman's mind betrayed the happy-go-lucky pilot after years of happy marriage.

"I'd never cheat on my little lady," Irvine stated firmly, not wanting to explain the intricacies of such matters when the focus of their conversation wasn't supposed to be on him. "While all women have a certain appeal, it was only one who made me lose control." Taking a moment to sip his tea, he revised his way of explaining it. "My first love was a young woman married to some eighty year old geezer who had more gil than a small country."

Attentive, Squall ignored his tea while listening with masked interest.

"She was a gold digger and I knew it," Irvine continued. "But love is blind, or so they say."

"Irvine," Squall cut in before the man could go on. "Are you implying I'm in love with Seifer?" His tone was even, but narrowed grey-blue eyes held warning. He was somehow able to handle being told he lusted after Seifer, but to be told he was in love with the ex-knight would be a breaking point.

Holding a hand up, Irvine refuted, "Hyne no. I'm just telling you how it was for me. I said I could relate, not that the same thing happened."

Sighing, Squall relaxed a bit. Nodding, he waited to hear the rest of the story.

Minutely disgruntled at the swordsman's defensiveness around him, Irvine decided it was the result of distress and heightened sensitivity. Choosing not to comment on Squall's apparent distrust in him, he continued, "She used everyone and everything around her like a tool. Her husband was a financial tool and I was a tool that amused her." He called forth his memories and reminisced over a time that felt so far in the past it might as well have been another lifetime. "She wasn't just my first love, but the first woman I was intimate with. She taught me _everything._" He couldn't help but smirk lewdly. "She was hardly a mentor though. Once I was no longer innocent, I was no longer amusing."

A silence fell for several long moments. "That's horrible," Squall eventually said, having never known of the gunman's experience.

Shrugging, Irvine picked his cup up and took another sip. "I don't really like to talk about it. It's embarrassing." He preferred to let everyone assume he had been born a seductive playboy, rather than picture him as a gangly preteen who couldn't unhook a bra properly.

"…" Squall suspected that the only lingering resentment the gunman harbored concerning such an experience was that it proved even he had once been unskilled as a lover.

Expressing his main point, Irvine regarded the brunet soberly, "Even though I was young and naïve, I wasn't stupid. I realized that she didn't really care about me. Even while knowing the truth, I ignored it when I was with her because I couldn't help myself."

Subdued, Squall stared at the still liquid in his cup. Ever since that day in Seifer's apartment, something had awoken inside of him. Angry at his weakness, he concluded that he had grown soft since his days as a regularly active SeeD.

"It's troubling, but it's not the end of the world," Irvine consoled. "I moved on just fine."

Forgetting his place, Squall muttered, "Sleeping in a different bed every night for half your life suggests that woman had quite an impact." He hadn't meant to be hurtful, but he was afraid of what would happen if he allowed himself to carry on with Seifer. What if Lore found out?

"If that's the case," Irvine began, his patience tested, "then I'm fine with it. I'm happy where I ended up. I've made my own bed with Selphie and my life suits me just fine."

Squall knew becoming further involved with Seifer would only be disastrous. Abruptly realizing what he had said to his friend, he apologized, "I'm sorry."

"Forgiven," Irvine returned. "You're too innocent for your own good." Disregarding the matter of why the youthful looking man felt an attraction to the bastard ex-knight, the rest of the puzzle was fairly easy to solve.

Expression darkening, Squall stated, "I'm not innocent." He had plenty of blood on his hands, not that he was proud of it.

"You are," Irvine impressed confidently. "You're so innocent that you have no idea how to deal with what you feel because you've never felt like this before."

"…" Realizing the gunman had been referring to a different sort of innocence, Squall concluded that while he was hardly a virgin, such feelings were indeed quite new to him.

Irvine was delayed in elaborating when the young waitress approached with his order. Too preoccupied to bother watching the girl leave, he kept his focus on the sullen brunet. "I'm going to make a safe bet and say that this is probably your first time feeling so attracted to someone, to the point where you'd wind up making out in your apartment when your son was still there."

Delicate features remaining impassive, Squall kept a tight leash on his emotions. Beneath the table, his fists clenched the material of his softly worn jeans. Although the gunman was playing the instigator quite well, his anger and frustration were not directed at the man. Irvine was simply speaking the truth. "Perhaps," he muttered in grudging agreement. Should he have been embarrassed that at thirty-four years old he had never fallen in love with anyone, at least not in a romantic sense? He supposed the closest he had come had been when he had first held Lore in his arms, but that was falling in love as a father.

"It might be pent up desires or simply instinct," Irvine proposed, thoughtfully crossing his arms.

"Instinct?" Leaning forward, Squall dared to touch his drink for the first time. His throat felt dry and he was suddenly grateful for having copied the gunman on a whim.

Grumbling discontentedly, Irvine explained, "You might be instinctively drawn to Almasy."

Burning his mouth when he took a rather large gulp unintentionally, Squall swallowed painfully and coughed. Staring at the gunman dubiously, he was more interested in learning the reasoning behind the man's words rather than firmly rejecting such a notion. "Why?" he asked, highly doubting that his instincts had anything to do with it.

With a heavy sigh, Irvine glared at the center of the table. "Objectifying things, I assume you have an attraction for strength and skill. As much as I hate it, in my unbiased opinion, he is your best match." Scoffing, he added, "That's if you ignore his twisted personality."

"My best match?" Squall repeated dumbly, the sheer insanity of the words setting in. It was like some bad joke.

"Taking into account your feelings and his status as a total asshole, he's the last person you should be involved with."

Needing time to think, Squall glanced to the side and stared off out the window. Seifer was his best and worst match. "Isn't that the root of my problem?" he inquired absently. He was vaguely aware that the analysis of his attraction was the opposite of what the gunman had intended to address.

"You're right," Irvine agreed, still appearing pensive. "Though, now that I consider something else, the cause of it might be easier than the solution."

Brows furrowing, Squall showed his confusion. "Something else?" he repeated.

Irvine hadn't considered the effect Lore would have in it all. "It's a bit more complicated than just refusing phone calls and pretending like nothing happened," he informed.

Perceptively, Squall asked, "Does this have to do what you've been keeping from me all day?" Stormy blue eyes studied the quick-drawing cowboy's face, narrowing sharply at the worrisome reluctance he found. Swallowing thickly, he felt the pit of his stomach drop. "Lore knows," he murmured, his voice almost a whisper.

Having expected such quick intuitive thinking from his former commander, Irvine simply nodded in confirmation. Prepared to explain in detail, he hastily began, "Lore saw you two. I'm not sure how much he saw, but he was pretty shaken up by it."

Eyes swimming with a mixture of contrite anguish and worry, Squall let his gaze fall. He couldn't imagine what his son thought of him now.

Irvine watched silently, wondering if he would need to chase after the brunet.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Squall mumbled, "You can eat." He fought the urge to stand up and leave, knowing he couldn't face Lore without some explanation in mind. The truth would serve nicely, if his son still trusted anything he said.

Appetite lost, Irvine slid his plate forward, refusing to eat. "He came to me while you were calming down," he explained, referring to the cold shower Squall had needed after Almasy's departure.

"What did you tell him?" Squall asked in a quiet voice.

"He asked if you were hurt, I said you weren't. He asked how long it had been going on, I said I didn't know. You know I'm no good at lying on the spot."

Unable to think of anything else to ask, Squall simply mumbled, "Thank you."

--

Squall returned home only to find the apartment empty. "Of course," he muttered, foolishly remembering his son had school. Unlike most mornings, Lore had left early and he had not spent much time seeing the boy off. He tried to recall if Lore had been acting any different, but there was nothing that struck him as odd.

Walking into the main flat, he approached the couch in a dejected state. It would be selfish to call Lore out of school, so he would wait. Checking his watch, he determined that it was only one o'clock. Lore wouldn't be home until four.

"Hey," Irvine called, entering the apartment. He had been left to park the car after letting the worried father out at the front entrance.

Sitting on the couch, Squall sank into the cushions. "I forgot he was at school," he informed. It was testimony to just how frazzled his mind was.

Chuckling, Irvine commented, "Students tend to go there from time to time."

Rolling his eyes, Squall crossed his arms. Giving the gunman a sardonic look, he hinted that he would have appreciated a little reminder instead of being allowed to rush off pointlessly. With a sigh, he once again forced himself to stop blaming Irvine for his own mistakes.

"Want to talk about it?" Irvine attempted consolingly, willing to discuss the matter all day if that's what it took.

Squall shook his head, determined to sulk in silence. "Thank you though," he forced out politely, not willing to forget his manners in light of the mess he had brought upon himself. Irvine was a good friend. He understood the true meaning of friendship and it was nothing like the silly concept he had rejected as a young man.

Reluctant to simply leave it at that, Irvine hovered near the former commander. Knowing when to keep silent, he did just that.

Lost in thought, Squall forgot about the gunman until the cushion beside him sank down. Inwardly startled, he shot the man a quick glance. Annoyed by the stated of mind he was in, he stood abruptly and announced, "I'll make lunch." Though he wasn't hungry, he knew Irvine hadn't eaten.

"You don't have to do that," Irvine asserted. "I only took you out to keep you busy and distract you a bit."

"I don't want to take my mind off it," Squall said, determined to remain focused on what he would have loved to ignore.

"Then don't do something useless like making me lunch," Irvine chastised, gazing evenly into steely blue eyes. He could tell the brunet was torn up inside. Expression softening, he added, "Your lack of appetite is contagious. I doubt I'll be hungry until dinner."

Squall rubbed his temple. He didn't know if he was coming or going. "I need to think," he said at length. He would prefer to think alone, even if he might simply end up confusing himself further without the clearheaded sensibility of his confidant.

Standing, Irvine turned the slightly shorter man to face him. "Then I'll leave you to it," he said, easily taking the hint. "It's not the end of the world and you know Lore is old enough to understand what's going on, but he won't understand unless you explain it to him."

Frowning, Squall reminded, "I would have to understand it myself before explaining it to anyone."

"Then take your time thinking. Call me if you need me. I'm staying at the Gladstone Hotel, so I'm not far."

"You can always stay here," Squall offered, finding it unusual that the gunman was in town for a few days and not using the guest bedroom.

Shaking his head, Irvine pointed out, "I've got the competition. I have to do the whole meditation ritual." Seeing that the frazzled father had once again overlooked the obvious, he felt pity for the confused man. "It's okay, you have a lot to worry about right now."

"…" Wondering if he had ever behaved with such air-headedness, Squall didn't bother to comment.

"When your done talking with Lore, have him call me," Irvine requested, knowing he could say a few things to smooth it all over.

Nodding absently, Squall accepted the sharp shooter's amicable hug and stood rooted while the man left.

--

Standing out on the rarely used balcony, Squall brooded in silence. Immune to the loud sound of midday traffic and winds that eventually countered the sun's warm rays, he leaned against the sturdy railing. He had no sense of how long he had been standing there, only that it hadn't been long enough to sort through his thoughts and mixed feelings.

Squall had come to the conclusion that he should break up with Cale and ignore Seifer's presence in Esthar. As mature as Lore was, he felt it had been a mistake to begin dating someone so suddenly. It was too great a change to bring into their lives. Though Irvine had admonished the need for having someone around when Lore moved out, he would rather wait and maintain the equilibrium during the last few years he had living with his son.

Breathing deeply, Squall felt little relief over determining a course of action.

Torn from his musings, his cell phone began to vibrate. Heart in his throat, he hastily unclipped the device from the waist of his jeans. Confirming that it was Lore, he took a deep breath before answering. "Hey," he spoke as evenly as possible. Checking his watch, he saw that it was only three o'clock.

"Hey Dad, I wanted to check in with you first. After practice, is it okay if I go to Grandpa's?"

On guard for any note of unease, Squall plainly heard the unsettled and nervous tone in his son's voice. As the boy's words set in, he knew right away what was going on. "For the night?" he questioned knowingly.

"Yeah, if that's okay. Grandpa already said it was fine. I've got a report to write for my economics class and figured I could ask Ward to help."

While it was true enough that Ward was Esthar highest authority on Esthar's economic policies, Squall knew the real reason for his son's request. "It's fine by me," he assured, not wanting to make his son return home if the boy needed time away.

"Okay, thanks," Lore said, intent on leaving their only conversation of the day at that.

"Lore," Squall began, pausing when he noticed how jittery his hand was. Grasping the railing to still the slight shaking, he finished, "I know you saw what happened yesterday. When you come back, we should talk about it." In the long silence that followed, he fought to breathe against his constricting chest.

"Uncle Irvine told you?"

"Yes," Squall answered.

"Practice is about to start, I should go," Lore responded evasively.

Almost wincing at his son's dodging reply, Squall tried to keep in mind that the boy wouldn't avoid him forever. "Alright, I'll call you later tonight," he said. For a moment, he though Lore was going to speak again, but the line went dead and he knew his son had hung up.

Gritting his teeth, Squall fought the swarm of emotions that stirred painfully inside of him. When his phone rang again, he quickly answered it. Assuming it was Lore, he jumped at the chance to express his contrite feelings over misleading the boy. "Lore, I'm sorry about not tell you the truth. If you're angry, I understand, but I'll meet you tonight at your grandfather's to at least see you."

Waiting with bated breath, Squall slowly came to the realization that he wasn't going to receive a response. "Lore?" he called uncertainly.

There was an audible exhale on the other end, but no one spoke.

With a curse, Squall hung up before he began to feel as though someone were watching him. He did not need paranoia to creep up on him when he already felt too many emotions inside. Checking the caller ID, he determined it was the same unknown caller who had been hounding his phone the past couple days. Considering his number was nearly impossible to learn without his express permission, he was not accustomed to screening his calls. Though reluctant to change numbers, assuming the prankster would grow tired after a short while, he was beginning to think it might be best.

Phone going off again, Squall knowingly waited until the small screen on the front of the device told him who was calling. When it read 'unknown' again, his hopes that it was Lore were dashed and his patience snapped.

"I'm tracing the next call," he bit out in warning.

"No need," Seifer's baritone voice replied. "I'll tell you where I'm calling from if you promise to strip and wait in bed for me."

Stunned, Squall stood stiffly in place. He was at a loss for words, not that he felt confident he could articulate even if he knew what to say.

Rich laughter sounded on the other end. "I don't hear clothes rustling, so I'll assume you're going to let me remove them on my own." Pausing briefly, Seifer kindly explained, "I knew you wouldn't answer if you saw I was calling."

Gaze narrowing, Squall remembered himself. "What do you want?" he questioned in a meticulously controlled voice that expressed no emotion.

Laughter dying down, Seifer said, "That's a dangerous question. If you get me started, there's no telling when I'll stop wanting."

Taking a steadying breath, Squall reiterated, "Why did you call?"

With a false sigh of whimsicality, Seifer informed, "I left some important papers. I wanted to make sure you hadn't thrown them away."

Unable to deny the legitimacy of the ex-knight's call, Squall moved back inside the apartment and slid the glass door shut. "I have them," he assured, on his way to double-check the location of the items in question.

"Are you home?" Seifer inquired, the question slyly fencing a matter of true relevance and one of personal interest.

Steps faltering, Squall debated the evils of answering honestly. "When do you need them by?" he questioned in turn, skirting the inquiry of his location.

"Tonight," Seifer replied succinctly. "Are you alone?" he followed quickly.

"No," Squall lied.

"So you are home then," the tactful blond commented.

Scowling, Squall lied, "No."

Seifer chuckled. "I'll be by to get what I want shortly," he said cryptically. "Since you're home alone, it shouldn't be a problem."

"You can't come," Squall hissed, eyes widening when a treacherous shiver wracked through him.

"See you soon," Seifer said with an excited undertone, promptly hanging up once he'd had the last word.

Slowly lowering the phone from his ear, Squall stared at it angrily. As familiar desire stirred within him, he was forced to restrain his anger, lest he punch a hole in the wall. Stalking somewhat unsteadily to his bedroom, he sat on the edge of his bed and tried to think clearly. The mere sound of Seifer's voice had left him weak kneed.

Knowing he couldn't possibly wait around, he tried for formulate a plan. Though he hated the idea of running away, he wasn't going to take any chances when he couldn't stand to hear the arrogant man's baritone voice without becoming ensnared. He would leave the ex-knight's folder outside the apartment door. He had little doubt of Seifer's ability to break in, but an empty apartment would hold no appeal.

Mind set, he had enough forethought to grab a zip up hoodie in case he was out after the sun set. He wasn't sure where he intended to go. Perhaps he would go to Irvine. He also needed to visit Cale and break their relationship off in person, and he would later go to the Presidential Palace to see Lore.

Keys in hand, with his black hoodie draped over a shoulder and the thick folder balanced in the crook of his arm, Squall exited his apartment.

Apparently Hyne took no pity on unsettled brunet, as he took less than a step and collided with the solid barrier of a muscular chest. Stumbling back, Squall shot a cool glare upwards. Eyes widening with recognition, he retreated back against the closed door. He stared at the grinning blond, his world reeling. Learning from past mistakes, he knew when to avoid battle. He had already tested the strength of his willpower and had lost miserably.

"Running away?" Seifer questioned, tutting in disapproval. "I didn't know you were a coward."

Fierce glare returning to his eyes, Squall uncaringly pressed the folder against the ex-knight's chest. "Take it and leave," he commanded.

Jade green eyes darkened as they swept over the brunet's lithe form. He couldn't wait any longer. Though Leonhart was a stubborn actor, he knew the man felt just as he did. Stepping closer, he crowded the smaller swordsman against the door.

"Wait," Squall hissed. Nails digging into the palm of his hand, the small pain did little to keep his mind and body grounded. "I'm breaking up with Cale," he blurted out, hoping to dissuade the ex-knight's jealous actions.

Drawing back, Seifer stared down with question. "I'm not waiting until then," he informed, his patience already waning after restraining his urge to jump the brunet the moment the oblivious man had run into him.

"There's nothing to be jealous of," Squall remonstrated.

"Is that supposed to stop me?" Seifer questioned, amused by the futile attempt. "First, you're going to let me inside," he instructed.

"No," Squall refused.

"I don't mind doing it in this hallway, but I was trying to be considerate," Seifer informed. Reaching his free hand out, he touched the former commander's pretty bowed lips, his desire to kiss them quite clear.

"Don't do this," Squall requested, turning away from the ex-knight's hand.

Eyes sharpening, Seifer remarked, "Why not? This is something we both want."

"It's wrong," Squall stated.

"Very wrong," Seifer agreed, still as strongly opposed to the objectified concept of fucking his former rival, who despite a rather pretty face was entirely male. "I don't care why I want you. What I care about is fucking you senseless."

Trembling with desire and need, Squall fought to remain composed.

Smirking, Seifer noted the change in the brunet's demeanor. "You like that?" he questioned knowingly. Leaning closer, he said huskily, "I'm going to strip you bare and make you squirm with embarrassment while I stare at every inch of your naked body."

Already blushing, Squall bit his lip harshly to keep from reacting further. His breaths came in short and uneven pants, while heat gathered in his loins.

"When I'm no longer satisfied with just looking, I'll touch you," Seifer continued, leaning even closer so that his lips were practically against Leonhart's ear. "I'll touch every inch, every curve, everywhere."

"Before…" Squall began to say, trailing off as his words became lost amid his rampant desire. Shaking his head, he tried again. "Before you do anything," he said, firmly pushing the ex-knight away. "There is something you should know."

Noting the resistant man's choice in words, Seifer was pleased to realize the brunet had finally given in. Licking his lips, he took a step back and gave Leonhart a few moments to speak his peace. He would not wait much longer to ravish pout lips. "What should I know?" he prompted when stormy blue eyes seemed to loose their focus, lucid thought obviously slipping from the lust dazed beauty's grasp.

Resigned to defeat, Squall realized the crux of his weakness was being in close proximity to the overbearing ex-knight. He hadn't stood a chance after running into the man headlong. Refusing to succumb peacefully, he made a final stand before his inevitable fall. Swiftly swinging, he punched Seifer hard and effectively wiped the man's arrogantly seductive expression away. "I despise you," he hissed vehemently. Eyes flashing cold fire, he sent a silent challenge.

Seifer felt the sting of his bruised cheekbone and cut flesh. Straightening after the unexpected assault, he stared bewilderedly into fierce grey-blue eyes. Breath hitching, he saw the same willful fighter he had known as a cadet. A flood of unwanted emotions assailed him. "Leonhart," he said, unable to differentiate between the younger and older version. He had come to view the two separately, as though two different people, which wasn't necessarily a big stretch of reality.

Squall gasped excitedly when the blond violently pushed him back against the door. "Bastard," he called before feverish lips crushed his own.

Seizing the hand that had struck him, Seifer ended their kiss abruptly to examine reddened knuckles. Chuckling with amusement, he traced his thumb over the heavy ring with Griever's emblem. "Not nice," he chastised. He didn't bother to swipe the trickle of blood he felt roll along his cheek.

Having all but forgotten why he had hit the blond in the first place, Squall pressed forward and hooked his free hand around the tall man's neck. Drawing his target down, he leaned in and licked the thin trail of blood gently.

Stiffening, Seifer eyed the brunet peripherally. "The door," he groused impatiently. "Open the damn door." The sooner he fucked Leonhart, the sooner he would be satisfied. He hadn't felt satisfied in weeks, and such a melancholic feeling took its toll after a while.

Mindlessly complying, Squall broke away and turned to face the keypad on the side of the door's frame. Fingers tapping in the code, he then waved his key before the sensor. Beeping to announce the lock's release, the door slid open automatically.

Falling short of sweeping the former commander up into his arms, Seifer grasped the man's upper arm and ushered the way inside. Never breaking contact, he dropped his folder, which didn't scatter like the day before because of the rubber band Leonhart had considerately put in place.

Excitedly aroused, Squall's anxiety and worry had dissipated completely. He began to lift his shirt with impatience, wanting to undress and move onto the next stage as quickly as possible.

"Allow me," Seifer said, stopping the brunet from undressing.

"Hurry," Squall urged, raising his arms when the ex-knight tore his shirt off.

Taking advantage of the responsive swordsman's vulnerable high-armed pose, Seifer pulled the man close and slipped his tongue past parted lips. Hands touching the brunet's warm back, he caressed smooth skin while tasting his former rival's satisfyingly sweet mouth.

Desire flaring, Squall's arms wrapped around the ex-knight's neck and held onto the man for support. He readily accepted the blond's actions, shivering as rough hands continued to run over his exposed torso.

Tongue stroking in heated rhythm with Leonhart's, Seifer slowly became overwhelmed. Drawing back, he stared at the slick lipped brunet, trying to maintain his loose grasp on his self-control.

Nimble fingers making quick work of the ex-knight's tie, Squall began to undress the arrogant man with lusty fervor. Unlike yesterday, he felt certain the blond would fulfill the aching need resonating inside him. Managing to loosen the knot and pull the useless article overhead, only slightly disheveling blond hair, he cast it aside and began to unbutton the man's shirt.

Seifer's hands moved lower along the lithe fighter's backside. Groping firm buttocks, he hauled his quarry closer to press flush against him. Grinding his hips instinctively, he groaned at the solid friction against his groin.

Hands clutching at the tall man's white dress shirt, Squall returned the ex-knight's action and ground his pelvis against a muscular thigh. He could feel Seifer's aroused state pressing firmly against his stomach.

Growling his need, Seifer used his grip on the brunet's ass and lifted the man bodily. Though Leonhart tensed in his hold, the intuitive fighter quickly caught on and wrapped those lean legs around his waist.

If Squall had been any less consumed, he would have protested being carried. Lost in the heat of the moment, he dipped to taste his former rival, his tongue invading the man's mouth for the first time.

Stumbling as a skilled tongue twined with his own, Seifer sought the wall for support. Using the wall, he pinned the body in his hold securely before fending off an invasion that was beginning to steal his strength. He had yet to resolve why Leonhart was such a good kisser, but he would save that for later.

Squall fought to dominate the kiss, not actually caring who had control. When the ex-knight nipped his lip, he realized having control was of some importance to overbearing blond, so he let the man have his way.

Deciding to progress farther into the apartment while he was still steady on his feet, Seifer left the wall, only slightly burdened by the extra weight. "First door on the right?" he questioned huskily.

Panting, Squall didn't answer immediately. "No," he said, making a subconscious decision. "End of the hall."

Distantly aware that Leonhart's bedroom was the first door on the right and the spare bedroom was where the former commander wanted him to go, Seifer simply moved down the hallway. Unable to help himself, he stopped every few steps to ravish the brunet's mouth.

Despite the short distance, it took a while for the wildly lustful pair to finally reach the bedroom.

Squall gave a small grunt when he was released onto the bed, quickly topped by the larger man and given no pause to catch his breath.

"I see you've grown out your need for those belts," Seifer commented, tugging at the brunet's pants. It had been a running joke through Balamb Garden that Leonhart's belts had been some sort of chastity belt.

Lending a hand, Squall undid the button on his pants. "It helps to unbutton first," he informed breathily, quickly moving on to the blond's pants.

Green eyes narrowing, Seifer grabbed roaming hands and promptly pinned them to the bed. "I'll lead," he reminded. He had been looking forward to undressing his former rival slowly, but those plans had been foiled by his commanding need to find release.

Not looking for a power struggle, Squall remained complacently idle against the bed. Lifting his hips, he let the blond remove his pants.

Seifer smirked as he left the brunet in an awkward state, pants down around lean thighs while he slowly unlaced worn black boots. "I would have guessed a thong," he commented, glancing at the man's boxer briefs.

Not willing to reveal just how intensely he was studying the former commander's revealed body, Seifer pretended to keep his focus on loosening tight laces. Without baggy clothes to hide the lithe figure beneath, the effeminacy of the man was diminished. Though Leonhart's face was fairer than most women he had known, the swordsman's body was made of hard lines and toned muscles. There was no doubt that Leonhart was male and he hadn't quite come to terms with that fact.

Exercising amazing restraint, Squall continued to play a passive role. With nothing to do but observe, he did not miss the change in jade-green eyes. Deciphering the ex-knight's thoughts and feelings better than he could his own, he realized the reality of the situation was finally setting in. "What were you expecting?" he questioned soberly.

Shaking his head dismissively, Seifer finished removing Leonhart's shoes and pants. Feeling the penetrating gaze of stormy blue eyes, he hastily unbuttoned his shirt and discarded it absently. Deciding that thought was the enemy of action, he crawled atop the smaller man and set his claim upon inviting lips. Less consumed with the act of kissing, he kept it softer than usual while he relished the feel of their bare flesh touching for the first time. He was shocked to find the ice prince to be feverishly warm.

Contently lost, Squall memorized the solid contours of the ex-knight's broad back. He had never been jealous of his rival's larger build, but he had admired such a powerful body.

Slowly drawn in, Seifer bruised swollen lips as he delved deeper. It was ridiculous that his body was so aroused from such a simple act. Filled with raw need, he was forced to redefine what he had always considered a rather tenuous part of foreplay. He could kiss Leonhart all day and never grow tired of it.

"Seifer," Squall gasped, turning away and breaking the kiss. He had no breath left.

Denied access to plush lips, Seifer was forced to play elsewhere. Attacking a slender neck, he trailed heated kisses over every inch. Rouged markings left in his wake would help him find his way back when heady lust clouded even his sense of direction.

Taking hold of silky blond hair, Squall arched off the bed as the ex-knight tweaked a hard nipple between nibbling teeth. Biting his lip, he stifled a moan when a thigh rubbed against his sensitive arousal.

Cock twitching, Seifer broke away to stare in surprised awe at the flushed expression on the ice prince's face. "Let me hear," he demanded, wanting to hear his rival's voice unrestrained by tightlipped tendencies and reserved manners. He wanted to hear the quiet man scream, crying out in ecstasy as a result of his actions.

Filled with driving lust, Squall drew the ex-knight closer and kissed the man hard. Heated and wet, every fiber of his body called out to Seifer, begging that his needs be fulfilled. Irvine had been right; his instincts were directing him. It was a wildly instinctive attraction, basely innate and impossible to ignore.

"Leonhart," Seifer called, breaking away and staring ardently into eyes of cold steel. The former commander seemed less submissive than the day before, breeding doubts of who was truly in control. Entranced as the pretty boy simply stared up at him, perhaps thinking his exact thoughts, he studied effeminate features that were forever engraved in his memory. The sight of a pink tongue licking swollen lips effectively distracted him.

Sinking deeper into appetent lust, Squall wondered if he might spend the entire night simply kissing his childhood rival. Though it did not appease his every desire, he felt no inclination to stop any time soon.

Precariously close to losing control completely, Seifer tried to maintain some level of restraint. When a daring hand slid along his side and reached between their tightly pressed bodies to stroke his stiffened length through the tented material of his pants, he snapped.

Squall hadn't taken notice of any difference in the ex-knight's level of manhandling dominance, but he was abruptly shown the difference when rough hands seized him and turned him over with frightening strength. Feeling the same furiously passionate touch as on the previous day, he was somewhat startled.

Seifer had never claimed to be a caring or gentle man, though he had not intended to actually take Leonhart with iron handed force. There had seemed little need for force when his stubborn quarry had submitted so completely. Nonetheless, he had reached his limit and his ravenous craving drove him over the edge.

With his arm bent awkwardly behind his back, held in the ex-knight's uncomfortably tight hold, Squall struggled to move. "Seifer," he began, head turning to the side to keep from suffocating, "let go."

Unhearing, Seifer pulled the only remaining garment on the swordsman's body down, only far enough to expose the man's tantalizing backside. "I suppose this part of you is skilled as well," he said with involuntary accusation. Unzipping his pants, he freed his engorged manhood.

Brows knit with dazed confusion, Squall was unsure what to make of the growing alarm he felt. Surely Seifer didn't mean to enter him. Regardless of how quickly they had progressed into bed, he had intended to at least draw it out long enough to procure the necessary items.

Lifting the lithe fighter's lower body up, Seifer pushed lean legs apart and drew closer. Rubbing the mushroomed head of his cock along the cleft between smooth cheeks, he used a guiding hand to position himself for entry.

"Seifer, wait," Squall spoke in protest, the reality of his situation setting in. Knowing what was coming at the feel of the blond's nudging intrusion, he was still entirely unprepared for what followed.

With a hoarse groan of delight, Seifer sunk deeply into gripping heat. Forcing his way past resisting walls of clamping muscles, he cursed at how tight it was inside the prostrated brunet. Searing heat and clamping tightness gave him such pleasure that he thought he must have been dreaming. It felt so good.

Eyes wide, Squall's mouth opened to emit a cry equivalent to the pain that flared through his entire body, but no sound escaped him. As swiftly as he had succumbed to overpowering lust, he was filled with another consuming feeling. Pain blinded him, casting him to the other end of the mind numbing spectrum and leaving him thoughtless.

Releasing the brunet's arm, Seifer used both hands to grip slim hips as he pulled out and pushed back in. "Relax," he hissed, his cock being gripped almost painfully.

Knowing he could find his voice if he tried, Squall felt a wave of crashing guilt. He had made his own bed. Even instincts could be tamed. Contritely, he bit down on the corner of the pillow and swallowed his cries of protest. He had lied to his son and betrayed a man of honest character all because he had acted like a selfish fool. The pain he felt seemed fitting punishment.

As Seifer began to set a steady pace, he felt a creeping suspicion that something was awry. Unable to take his focus off his pending climax, his only real concerns were how unbelievably tight and hot it was inside his rival. He had never felt such heat. Though he had hoped his bedmate would be more vocal, he was far from complaining. The rough friction almost kept him from being able to pull out, but he could already feel the clamping hole loosening up a bit.

Eyes scrunched shut, Squall bit down on his mouthful of pillow when the ex-knight started thrusting deeper and faster. He felt broken, as though he had been split down the middle. Mind swimming, the initial shock wore off and his resolve to accept his punishment wavered. Giving a stifled cry when stabbing thrusts became even fiercer, he clawed at the bedding. He needed it to be over. Repeatedly reminding himself that he had experienced pains far worse, the fighter inside him upheld a stubborn mindset. He wouldn't give in, not until it was over.

Closing his eyes, Seifer impaled the lithe beauty over and over. Such ecstasy was beyond his expectations. Groaning as he reached orgasm, he thrust a final few times before burying his spurting length. As his entire body shuddered pleasantly, he decided to swallow his heterosexual pride and fist Leonhart to join him in release. Feeling another man's cock for the first time, he didn't dwell on comparisons. Tentatively gripping the soft organ, his initial assumption was that the brunet had already come. As his mind slowly cleared of its euphoric haze, green eyes sharpened in suspicion. Not feeling any sticky release, he was forced to conclude that not only had the former commander not climaxed but the man had also gone soft again.

Squall was distantly aware that the ex-knight had stopped thrusting. Too numb in mind and body, he couldn't tell whether or not the man were still inside of him.

Sensing that something was wrong, Seifer straightened and began to ease out of Leonhart's tight entrance. Casting a cursory glance down, he froze. No longer consumed by lust, he came to the alarming realization that his partner had not been properly prepared. Though his concept of sex between men was vague, common sense dictated that some form of lubrication was needed. He stared fixedly at spots of blood. Crashing remorse tightened his chest.

Jaw flexing stiffly, Squall released his muffling mouthful. Breathing unevenly, he kept his white knuckled grip on the quilt as he gingerly lay on his side. Not daring to look at the forceful blond, he kept perfectly still.

"Leonhart," Seifer began, unused to feeling such guilt, "I didn't mean to do it like that." To his chagrin, he had just proved a horrible partner in bed.

Swallowing hard, Squall tried to find his voice after suppressing it so willfully. "It's fine," he muttered hoarsely. He didn't understand why his vocal chords sounded strained when he had stifled every noise.

Though he was arrogant to a fault, Seifer was well aware that even he made mistakes. He could have placed blame on the capable brunet for not resisting, but he knew he had lost control and hurt the man. Whether or not Leonhart had willingly chosen to take it without complaint, he was still responsible for his actions. "Where do you keep the potions?" he asked.

Fingers uncurling, Squall released his strangling hold on the bedding. Hearing only the uncommon tone of concern in the ex-knight's voice, he didn't register the actual words. Exhaling a long breath, he let relief set in. It was over.

Frowning, Seifer leaned over the unresponsive brunet. "Hey," he said, trying to draw the man's attention. Seeing the ice prince's attractive face partly hidden against a plush pillow, he went rigid. With a weary expression in place of the lascivious flush that had driven him wild, pale cheeks were glistening with drying tears.

Sensing the intense gaze of green eyes, Squall shifted slightly and glanced up at the hovering man. Uncertain what had caused the ex-knight to have such an odd expression that almost bordered on anguish, he frowned. "What?" he questioned tersely.

Concluding that the former commander was unaware of the tears, Seifer reached a hand out to wipe them away.

Reacting instinctively, Squall flinched away before the blond touched him. Though his body protested the jolting movement, he followed his sudden urge for distance by moving out from underneath the larger man.

Stunned, Seifer ceased his attempt to touch the pale man and stared wide eyed. "Leonhart?" he questioned, not quite understanding what had just happened.

Feeling terribly self-conscious, Squall felt compelled to dress. Not quite able to sit up completely, he hissed in pain and leaned to the side. Hand grappling unsteadily, he maneuvered his briefs back on.

"Where do you keep the potions?" Seifer reiterated.

Not certain he could recite his own name clearly, Squall fought to keep his composure. His thoughts were frantic, several different urges assaulting him all at once. Coming unraveled, he was torn between what to do. He felt exposed, but his body was not cooperating. Curling up beneath the covers and sinking into a dark oblivion of sleep seemed appealing, but he also wanted to take a hot shower.

Unable to ascertain what was wrong, Seifer left the bed and grabbed the box of tissues on the nearby dresser. Wiping himself clean, he zipped his pants up and stalked around to the other side of the bed. Waving a hand before vacant stormy blue eyes, his concern increased. "Leonhart," he groused, baritone voice cutting through whatever deep thoughts were swimming in the man's pretty head.

Startled, Squall jolted with shock. Glancing to the foot of the bed, then back to the tall ex-knight in front of him, he tried to figure out when the man had moved.

"Are you okay?" Seifer questioned sternly, needing an answer to at least one of his questions.

Staring into jade-green eyes for a long moment, Squall eventually replied, "I'm fine."

Knowing that obviously wasn't the case, Seifer studied the former commander intensely. The man seemed rattled, almost skittish or even frightened. He had never seen Leonhart in such a state. Reaching out again, he attempted to touch the fierce fighter again.

Though Squall saw the hand coming and he knew it was harmless enough, he was unable to stop his body from drawing away. Startled by his own reaction, he stared at the ex-knight with surprise.

Abashed, Seifer stared with mirrored shock. Leonhart was afraid of him. Not knowing what to make of the situation, he decided healing the brunet was priority. "I have some potions in my car. I'll only be a few minutes," he said, stepping away. Snatching his shirt from the floor, he cast a final glance at the seemingly frail form on the bed before leaving the room.

Alone, Squall felt better able to breath. Taking a moment to gather up the shattered pieces of his composure, he tried to convince himself that everything was fine. The sex was over and most likely so was the insane attraction between him and Seifer. With no strings attached, the lust was surely out of their systems.

Feeling confident in his conclusions, Squall was confused by the mounting apprehension in his stomach. Glancing around the room, his gaze landed on his boots and pants. Acting quickly, he staggered from bed with a grunting curse. Though he did not blame Seifer for anything, he did not want to be around the ex-knight. He needed time alone.

Collecting his clothes, he braced himself against the wall and stumbled to his own bedroom. He had potions there. Only able to hurry after he was healed, he managed to dress haphazardly and slip from the apartment before Seifer returned. His actions felt cowardly, but it would only be one shameful act among many that day.

TBC…

Author's Note: 0o It was a long wait, so thank you all for being so patient. This is the longest chapter I've ever written, and hopefully it doesn't read like it's too long. I know some of you are probably not happy with how the lemon turned out. I suppose it might even seem like Seifer and Squall are even further away from getting together now, but I swear they will get together eventually. Such borderline non-consensual scenes between them will not become the pattern. Well, whether you liked it or disliked it, I'd love to know.

On an unrelated side note, is anyone doing The Hunt for Volvo? I did it last year and made it all the way to the end, though I was obviously not the winner. This year is a lot of fun too… except the fact I'm still stuck on the 3rd puzzle… the frozen guy with smeared ink all over him. I should probably just look up the answer, but I'm too stubborn for my own good.


	27. Chapter 27

Defining Love 

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Seifer stood outside his rival's apartment, delaying his return unnecessarily. He hated his hesitancy, but needed to collect his thoughts before acting. Pacing away, he tried to formulate a plan. An apology seemed in order.

Turning and pacing back, he frowned. He could count the number of times he had apologized throughout his life on a single hand. He didn't like the concept of expressing remorse or guilt. Knowing he had done something wrong was troubling enough without having to dwell on it. He could take responsibility for his actions, so wasn't that enough? What would Leonhart care for words anyway? How much blame did he actually deserve? Though he had been a bit rough, the lascivious lion had loved it up until his premature penetration.

"He could have said something," Seifer groused to himself, annoyed that the former commander hadn't protested. Pausing as he came before the door, he realized such an assumption was just a copout. Pacing away again, he cast aside his comforting delusion. He wouldn't have stopped even if Leonhart had begged. He had been so consumed with lust that he had lost all ability to tame his actions.

Eyes glancing to the potions in hand, he stared at the viscous liquid and recalled the spots of blood mingled with his deposited semen. He hadn't even worn a condom. For all he knew, he had just knocked the ice prince up again.

Sighing, Seifer decided he definitely needed to apologize. He would swallow his pride and get down on his knees if necessary. Mind set, he returned to the door and raised a hand to the side panel. Images of the skittish swordsman suddenly surfaced in his head. His hand hovered while he recalled the shocking expression of fear in stormy blue eyes. Chest tightening, he found it difficult to breathe while remembering Leonhart's shying reactions. After a lifetime of dangerous sword fights and wartime torture, he had never seen such an expression. He had never seen the fighter so shaken. The reticent man's impenetrable mask had been shattered and had revealed such vulnerability that he scarcely thought it had been his rival sitting on the bed.

Withdrawing his hand, Seifer wondered what he might find upon entering the apartment. Having faith that his worthy opponent would recover quickly, he concluded the doughty fighter's rattled state was only temporary. He could expect to find the sullen man waiting with a scowl set in place. He could expect steely blue irises to sharpen and glare reproachfully as he approached. He anticipated a few punches being thrown and would feel relieved after letting a few swings hit him in compensation.

Finally opening the door, a task that should not have been so difficult, Seifer hastened inside. "Leonhart," he called out to let the bedridden brunet know he had returned. His long strides faltered. Immediately sensing that something was out of place, it took him a few searching moments to realize what was missing. Green eyes landed on his tie and discarded folder, which lay undisturbed on the floor a few steps away. The shirt he had removed from his rival's slim frame was no longer there.

A man of lesser intelligence would have been puzzled, but Seifer was well rounded in his godliness and likened himself to a genius. Starting forward, he moved swiftly, crossing the flat of the apartment and length of the hallway. Standing on the threshold of the spare bedroom, he stared angrily at the vacant bed. The sheets were strewn and dirtied from recent activity, and it seemed to him that Leonhart's presence lingered. He wondered if the bed were still warm.

Shaking his head, he noted the rest of the brunet's clothing was gone. With a curse, he stormed from the doorway and backtracked to the ice prince's nighttime abode. Throwing the door open, he carried out a search despite feeling certain he was the only person present in the apartment.

Needing conclusive results, he checked every room before finally concluding Leonhart was not there. Ending his search, he drifted involuntarily back to the absent fighter's bedroom. He had not considered a scenario involving an empty apartment.

Aggravated with his new predicament, he was at loss. His continued diffidence was annoying, but he knew he needed to tread carefully and couldn't rush off brashly. His attraction to the former commander was nothing but trouble. Try as he might, he still couldn't ignore it.

Seifer stared distantly at the neatly made bed in the center of the room. Understanding that the damaged orphan had wanted to keep him at a distance, he knew why the spare bedroom had been used. He wondered if the white haired islander had been admitted into Leonhart's room?

Starting forward, Seifer was sitting on the queen-sized bed before he could think twice of his actions. Hand running over the navy blue comforter, he remembered the last time he had been allowed inside such personal quarters. Leonhart had been sick, having fallen asleep half naked atop the covers. It was beyond vexing to envision the prickly brunet offering an invitation to another man.

Reminding himself that the abnormally tall schoolteacher was no longer his rival, he tried to set aside his persisting jealousy. It was impossible when he realized Leonhart might have run to the man for comfort. Glaring, he contended with his jealous notions. He knew his rival was too proud to run to anyone for comfort, but his vivid imagination would not relent.

Drawing from his thoughts briefly, Seifer realized how unbearably quiet it was. With a frustrated sigh, he ran his fingers through unkempt golden blond hair. "What's wrong with me?" he questioned, speaking aloud to spite the mocking silence. Rarely having cause to regret his actions, he was not foolish enough to pine over how things might have turned out better. Instead, he focused his efforts on figuring out what came next.

Knowing Leonhart's trail had gone cold, he was perceptive enough to take the hint. Lying back on the undisturbed bed, he mused silently. It was truly impossible to figure out what was running through the straight-laced SeeD's mind. He supposed he should give the man some space and time to calm down.

How long would it take for the attractive fighter to settle down? When could he see his rival again and be assured that those bright eyes would be back to normal? He didn't want to see the skittish man he had left in bed because such a sight struck a chord inside him that he would rather leave untouched.

Coming to the abrupt realization that he still wanted the laconic brunet, he was confused. His desires were not gone, just simmering after finding an outlet. He wanted to take the stubborn fighter to bed again, hopefully maintaining some level of control when it happened. Confusion increasing, he couldn't figure out what he wanted from the alluring man. He should have been satisfied already, but he wasn't.

Grumbling discontentedly, he wondered where Leonhart had scampered off to. He had the strangest urge to chase after the brunet. He would need to procure a bulletproof vest in case Kinneas was regaled with the story of how the lion had been tamed. The cowboy was an overprotective best friend with world-renowned sniping abilities and a personal vendetta against him.

"This is lame," he muttered in annoyance, remaining listless upon the missing swordsman's bed. Knowing it was a little after three, he tested his luck and ignored the possibility that someone might enter the apartment and find him as an intruder. The lion's trail wasn't going to grow colder, so it didn't exactly matter when he started following. There stood a good chance he would run into Leonhart sooner by staying exactly where he was.

Not ready to leave, he settled in comfortably. Feeling the urge to flaunt his intrusion, he toyed with the idea of taking a short nap. Chuckling quietly, he decided it would ease his jealousy to sleep where he had not been invited. Doubting he could actually fall asleep, he was fine with dozing indolently.

Arms cradling his head, he kept his legs hanging over the edge. As he inhaled deeply images of his androgynous rival assaulted him. The scent of the man surrounded him. The entire room had a very distinct smell to it, but it was subtle. The leather and gunpowder were easiest to identify, but that was only part of it. Taking a deeper breath, he groaned softly as he let it out.

Strangely fascinated, he continued to concentrate on identifying the decidedly pleasant scent with his sharp olfactory sense. It was fresh and very clean. He reached out and snagged a nearby pillow. The pillow smelled just like Leonhart. Breathing deeply, his eyes closed automatically.

Suddenly realizing what he was doing, Seifer stiffened. Tossing the pillow aside, he bolted upright and scowled. He was acting like some bloodhound. He didn't care what the swordsman smelled like. Annoyed, he stood from the bed and decided he wasn't in any mood for a nap. He could return to the unfinished training center. There was always work to be done.

Moving to the doorway, he paused. He felt scrupulous about simply carrying on with work after what had happened. Even he had limits to acting like a bastard. He couldn't lie to himself about not caring, even if his concern was only born of guilt. He wanted to find out where Leonhart had gone.

"Fuck it," he muttered, patting his pockets for his cell phone.

Assuming the evasive man would not accept his call, he took measures to block any trace on his phone. There was a good chance his rival wouldn't fall for the same trick twice, but he could at least try. As he waited for the other end to pick up, he recalled the odd greeting he had been given when he had called earlier. It would seem he wasn't the only person Leonhart was trying to avoid.

Grumbling impatiently, he stepped out into the hall. About to hang up, his ears caught a distant sound. Lowering his phone, he listened intently. His expression darkened as he realized what he was hearing.

Following the sound, he wound up standing in the kitchen. He flipped his phone shut and ended the call that would never reach the intended person. Green eyes stared fixedly at the small black device on the island countertop.

More exasperated than angry, he snatched his rival's phone. His entire day had taken a hundred and eighty degree turn. Whatever satisfaction he had received from fucking Leonhart's tight ass had been ruined. The cold aftermath that had followed completely outweighed his brief pleasure.

While he strove for spontaneity in order to avoid the mundane, his brashness had been nothing short of flagitious. He had not seen beyond his carnal desire, where the consequences had lain waiting. He had failed on more than one account that day.

Spurred to prove his true abilities, Seifer decided that he would seduce Esthar's second best swordsman again. Even if it were only to sooth his ego, he would make Leonhart scream with pleasure. He might have to rent gay pornos to figure out how to do it, but he was relentless when his resolve hardened. Having already seduced the former commander once was proof that he was capable of anything.

--

Pulling over before he caused an accident, Squall cut the engine of his outdated Forbidden sedan. Driving without any clue where he intended to go was not a smart idea. His ability to drive was questionable enough in the state his shaken nerves were. Taking a deep breath, he tried to settle down. The acrimony between him and Seifer was poisonous, but it had never been so potent as what he had experienced that day.

In an attempt to focus his mind, he made a list of the immediate actions he should take. He needed to take a shower and calm down foremost. He quickly vetoed the idea of seeking Irvine out and couldn't even consider facing his son or father. He needed to see Cale first. If he were lucky, then the professor wouldn't even be home. Seeing his boyfriend so soon after sleeping with another man was hardly what he would consider honorable, but not coming clean and breaking up was worse.

Repeatedly looking at his wristwatch, he tried to remember the college professor's schedule. He was fairly certain the busy man had a class until five, but he vaguely recalled the same class being at an alternating time every week.

Staring evenly at the key card on the dashboard, Squall contended with conflicting emotions. He was lost in a sort of disingenuous limbo.

Sighing, he snatched the key card that Cale had given him as a token of intimacy. He had never used it and was reluctant to do so on the very day he intended to return it.

--

Cale didn't know what to make of the phone call he received from Seifer Almasy. On his way home with a cumbersome load of paperwork, he performed a rather daring juggling act upon hearing the distinctive ring tone assigned to Squall's calls. Disappointed and suspicious, he almost forgot to respond to the question he had been asked. "Squall isn't with me," he said honestly.

"If you're sleeping him, then you'll lie for him," Seifer returned sharply, jealousy ruling his tone. "I just want a quick word, nothing more."

Frowning, Cale's red eyes studied the black pavement of the staff parking lot he was in. While confrontation was not his mode of operations, he was not without a backbone. "You realize that Squall is my boyfriend and that you're not exactly in line to becoming the best man at any wedding."

Scoffing, Seifer informed, "Well, if you still think he's your boyfriend then he obviously isn't with you right now."

Struck with an uneasy feeling, Cale tried to figure out what the ex-knight meant. "What does that mean?" he questioned stiffly, his words blatantly forced.

"You're the professor, figure it out," Seifer muttered with agitation, promptly hanging up after having the last word.

Brows knitting in confusion, Cale stared despondently at his phone. Not wanting to infer anything incorrectly, his current insecure standing in his relationship left him dreading some approaching breakup.

Progressing to his car, tried not to question why Seifer Almasy had called from Squall's phone. Loosing his dark grey tie he tossed it into the passenger side seat along with his files. Taking a few moments to remember why faith was necessary in any relationship, he tried to find his.

Adjusting and readjusting the cuffs of his black dress shirt, he had to consciously stop himself before the buttons popped off. "Dammit," he cursed, his anger towards the antagonistic sorceress' knight building. Why was Seifer interfering?

Staring down at his lap, he laughed mirthlessly as he realized he appeared dressed for a funeral in his black slacks and top. Perhaps that was what awaited him upon returning home.

Frowning, he forced his pessimistic thoughts away. He wouldn't assume anything until he talked with Squall.

--

Squall hadn't meant to fall asleep. After showering and dressing in the same clothes he had worn before and after sleeping with Seifer, he had been left with nothing but his thoughts to occupy his time. Shaken awake, he jolted upright on the couch and met crimson eyes warily.

"Are you okay?" Cale asked, sensing that something was not quite right with the flow of events that day. He had rushed home, having suspected he might have a guest.

Nodding numbly, Squall glanced around as though expecting to find a crowded room. Checking his watch, he was displeased to realize it was already six o'clock. "I let myself in," he said in confession, his tone apologetic.

Smiling wryly, Cale knelt down before the pale brunet and gazed into sleep-dazed eyes. "I gave you a key for a reason. I know we can't live together right now, but I hope you feel free to come and go in my home as though it's your own."

Hit with poignant guilt, Squall barely managed to contain his grimace. "Cale," he began in a quiet voice, staring morosely into the worried man's soft eyes, "I came here to breakup."

Brows drawing together, Cale could not hide the sharp pain he felt. Unable to speak, he stared for several long moments. Swallowing thickly, he eventually managed to say, "I thought we were doing good."

"I'm sorry," Squall said, running a hand through his hair.

"Is it…" Cale wasn't exactly sure if his surprise was genuine. He had harbored doubts from the start, the deepest recesses of his insecure mind wondering when he might hear such words formed by pretty bowed lips. "Is it because of me or does it have to do with something else?" he asked, standing swiftly and turning away before he lost his composure entirely.

Realizing how clichéd his words would sound, Squall thought twice before speaking. "I can't have a relationship right now," he explained. "The changes in my life have affected Lore badly." While most parents were capable of balancing familial and romantic relationships at the same time, he had failed miserably. He had started off on the wrong foot, forgetting to remember that the relationship between him and his son was unusually close. Seifer's interference had only thrown a wrench into an equation that wouldn't have worked anyway.

"You want to erase everything that happened after the night I confessed to you," Cale commented dejectedly.

"You deserve better," Squall added, grasping at straws for an explanation that had sounded solid in his head.

Stiffening abruptly, Cale remembered the call from Seifer Almasy. Turning, he gazed down at the seated brunet. "Something happened with _him_ again," he surmised disdainfully. His current distress suddenly opened the floodgates for contempt and jealousy, which were not feelings he generally hosted.

"… …"

Cale waved his hand dismissively. He didn't need or want confirmation. He knew something else had happened. He had been an idiot for hoping Squall would grow to love him. "I can't say that I'm surprised. Does that make me pathetic?" he mumbled, wondering just how foolish he must have seemed all along.

"No," Squall asserted firmly. Battling his conflicting judgments on what he should say, he finally informed in an eerily calm voice, "I slept with Seifer."

Frozen in place, Cale didn't even breathe. At length, when it became apparent that it was his turn to speak, he murmured, "I see."

Standing smoothly, Squall consciously refrained from moving closer. He knew enough not to try and console the islander. He understood that Cale loved him, but he could only conclude that his actions were beneficial to the man. He still didn't understand what had happened with Seifer. He couldn't even determine whether the belligerent ex-knight was satisfied, which he would need to find out if his life were to regain its equilibrium.

"I'm a little confused," Cale said, feeling betrayed. He had never gone all the way with the former commander because the sappy romantic inside of him had needed requital. Entirely aware of how prudish his approach had been, he had assumed the man he loved was of a similar mindset regarding sexual intimacy. Concluding that Squall couldn't have slept with anyone without feeling something for the person, he was left to further conclude that the breakup had nothing to do with Lore. "If you're leaving me for him, you would tell me wouldn't you?"

"I'm not," Squall answered evenly. Crossing his bare arms, he hugged himself and informed, "What happened with Seifer was physical. I won't be seeing him again." Cale had no reason to believe him, especially when he couldn't even trust himself anymore.

Surprised by the shaky undertone he detected, Cale whirled around to face the brunet. The reclusive man's body language seemed terribly defensive. "Did something happen?" he asked in alarmed concern. He reached out tentatively, not quite daring to touch the fighter until he read some tacit signal that it was okay.

Eyes widening, Squall was disbelieving. He had just broken up with the man, yet that didn't seem to matter. Backing away, he gave a dry reflexive laugh. He distanced himself with a contrite expression marring delicate features.

Staring ardently into stormy blue eyes, Cale set aside his jealousy. He was smart enough to have seen it all coming, so there was little sense in doubting the reticent fighter's reasons. "You don't have to apologize," he said. Taking a deep breath to steel his nerves, he reminded, "I asked a lot of you from the beginning. I knew my feelings would be a burden, which is why I tried so hard to hide them."

Shaking his head, Squall commented, "You are just like Laguna." He had always considered his father to be an anomaly in a self-serving and self-centered world. Granted that Cale was not a klutz or horrible cook, but the man had a bleeding heart.

"I'm like the President?" Cale murmured. As a political science fanatic, he held President Loire up on a pedestal and could not imagine being compared.

Biting his lip, Squall nodded solemnly. "You both care so much. I just don't understand."

A gentle smile came to Cale's face and a moment of extrinsic reality passed between them, as though he hadn't just been dumped. Remembering the circumstances, his smile fell. "I'm not a saint," he assured. Seeing apparent strain shown in grey-blue eyes, he was compelled to try and ease the man's suffering. "I've done my share of misleading in relationships."

"Cale," Squall interjected. "Are you trying to make me feel better?"

Appearing sheepish, Cale replied, "A bit."

"Please don't," Squall requested. Mind spinning, he pinched the bridge of his nose. He was beyond feckless when it came to relationships, the breakup being no exception.

"This is going to sound desperate," Cale began, stepping closer to the shrinking brunet, "but that's exactly what I am right now." Hope sprung eternal within his foolishly determined heart, like a weed that either didn't know when to die or didn't know how.

"…" Squall remained rooted in place, ignoring his unsettled urge to step away. His body's autonomic response to any contact was to reject it. He was still shaken up inside after Seifer's painful penetration.

"If you're doing this for your son, then when Lore graduates, will the timing be right?"

Searching pleading crimson eyes, Squall masked his shock. "He's a sophomore," he said quietly, almost afraid of what the professor had in mind.

"I know," Cale asserted. Hand daring to cup the former commander's devastatingly beautiful face, he requested, "In two years, can we try again?"

Mask slipping, Squall appeared distressed. "Two years is a long time."

"A very long time," Cale agreed soundly, knowing that two years would feel like an eternity for him. "I'm afraid that if I don't express just how much I care, that you won't take me serious." Closing the distance between them, he pulled the brunet to him and held the smaller man securely against his chest. "My heart is breaking, Squall," he whispered hoarsely. "If your feelings this entire time haven't changed even a little, if it's completely hopeless and you think me insane, then tell me honestly. But if there is even the slightest chance that in two years you may come to love me back, tell me now."

Suffocating beneath the heavy choice he needed to make, Squall fought to remain calm. Military training finally kicking in, his thoughts began to sort and prioritize properly. He had no right to put the islander on a leash for two years while he selfishly kept his distance to preserve the relationship with his son. Conversely, it was the professor trying to become tethered and he was not adverse to the idea of dating Cale when the timing was right. If Lore wasn't a factor and if Seifer never found out, then pursuing their relationship was an attractive prospect.

"I'm sorry," Cale whispered, arms tightening. "I shouldn't ask you to do this for me, but Hyne knows that I'd never forgive myself if I just let you go without doing everything I could to hold on. I'm afraid I'll never feel this way again."

"You deserve better," Squall refuted, on the brink of accepting the virtual two-year storage agreement. No one deserved to be put on a waiting list, but the professor made it sound like his refusal would be a far crueler fate.

"My heart tells me that you are the best there is," Cale stated.

Eyes closing tightly, Squall continued to sort through his entangled feelings. He cared too much about the islander to hurt the man anymore than he already had. The pressure to give a decisive answer was mounting, sending him back to his days as a commander. "You'll be miserable," he commented in an attempt to procrastinate.

"No," Cale refuted. "Just being with you is enough to keep me happy for two years. It'll be uncomplicated, just like it was before. When your life can take a little complication, we'll start over."

Knowing it was within his power to end it all right then, Squall was bound by the sudden realization that beneath his motivations to breakup were his feelings of genuine affection for Cale. Though it was far from love, he had begun to develop feelings for the professor beyond the convenient comfort of having a release for his body's natural desires. Jumping the gun, his shocking epiphany tipped the scales before he could finish sorting through all the factors. "Okay," he agreed. "When Lore doesn't need me anymore, we'll start over."

Barely managing to process the brunet's answer in his state of despondence, Cale laughed tersely. "Hyne you've just made me so happy," he announced. Not quite ready to relinquish his hold, he held the pale man as though it were the last time he would have the chance to. His emotions were on a roller coaster, peeking and crashing in extreme intervals.

"Fool," Squall mumbled. He could not even begin to understand why Cale would still want to be with him. He had just admitted to sleeping with another man and the professor's first response was to secure a point in the distant future when they could try having a relationship again. If Hyne were merciful, then two years would be enough time for the professor to fall out of love and find someone better, but he wouldn't speak of such possibilities.

Laughing, Cale admitted, "I wish you could see a cooler side of me. Ever since I told you how I felt, it's changed me."

"…" Squall understood exactly how the professor felt, but preferred not to relate his situation of strong lust for Seifer.

Finally releasing the crushed brunet, Cale stepped back and smiled at the slender man. "We were good as friends," he commented lightly.

Astounded at the islander's recovery, Squall offered a half smile. "Compatible," he returned.

Nodding, Cale agreed. "It is strange considering our backgrounds. I'd say it was fate, but I've already become enough of a sap in front of you, so I'll just say it's all coincidence."

Responding with a slightly bigger smile, Squall searched crimson eyes for some betrayal of hidden feelings. Finding no disappointment or hurt in the man's uniquely colored eyes, he relaxed.

"Was there somewhere you needed to be tonight?" Cale questioned. Dinner between friends wasn't uncommon. It seemed to him that something else was troubling the tightlipped man.

Biting his lip, Squall nodded. He needed to see Lore.

"Well, I hope Lore doesn't hate me now," Cale commented, figuring the doting father needed to return home to spend time with an overprotective teenage son.

Shifting his weight, Squall fidgeted uncomfortably. "Lore doesn't hate you. Right now he's--"

Cut off by the demanding knock at the professor's apartment door, Squall shot an alarmed glance towards the entryway. When the knocking sounded again, he realized it wasn't Seifer. The raps were harsh, but not as forceful as the ex-knight's beckoning calls.

"Cale!" a young man called distantly. "It's me!"

Frowning, Cale stared sternly. "It's Luca," he informed, doubting his companion could recognize the boy's voice. Sighing in vexation, he cast a look of reluctance to the former commander. "I've told him not to come here, but he's young."

Squall appeared impassive. Youth was no excuse for repeatedly crossing the lines of a student-teacher relationship.

"Shall I send him away?" Cale asked.

Shaking his head, Squall mumbled, "Do what you have to do." He wasn't going to request that the professor turn someone away on his account. The man was obviously too caring.

Realizing that compromised time as lovers was no longer an issue, Cale strode to the door with a pang of sadness. He was not exactly ecstatic about breaking up, only relieved that he still had a chance. While relief was a powerful feeling, it could not sooth a fractured heart. In an attempt to steel his professional resolve, he stood for an extra moment before answering his caller. When the persistent student knocked again, he opened the door.

"Cale!" the young man said with underlying excitement. Luca stood beaming, dressed casually in baggy cargo pants and bright orange t-shirt. Choppy strands of recently stylized hair framed his round face, the intentional wayward manner reminiscent of a certain famous commander. Stepping forward, he made to enter the apartment.

Cale held a hand up, stopping his student from entering. "Luca," he addressed briskly. "I've already told you that visiting me at home is out of the question."

Lips pursing slightly, Luca gave a petulant look of indignation. His welcome was far less warm than expected. "You said it was inappropriate because I was your student."

"Exactly," Cale agreed.

Smile returning, Luca blithely informed, "I withdrew today. Now it doesn't matter."

Crimson eyes widening, Cale stared in shock. "There are two weeks left in this semester and you're one of my top students. Why would you do that?" It had to be a joke.

"Because I can't wait two weeks to be with you."

"No," Cale rejected firmly. "Luca, I will not date any students. I take my role as en educator very seriously."

Laughing, Luca informed, "I know. That's why I didn't just withdraw from your class. I withdrew from the university."

Squall eavesdropped from out of sight. It wasn't really his business. All things considered, Cale was free to date anyone, but the willful undergraduate seemed so desperate that Cale's hopeful two-year bargain paled in comparison. The young man's voice seemed to hold a hollow undertone, as though there were no actual emotions behind such a romantic pursuit. It was poor acting at its worst.

"Is that a joke?" Cale questioned incredulously. As a nervous habit, he ran his fingers through short strands of white hair, tugging gently as though it would conduce better solutions from his brain.

"No," the former student stated. "I was failing all my other classes anyway."

As the situation altered rapidly, Cale reacted in tandem. "You can come in," he said, stepping aside and allowing his overzealous pupil to enter.

"I actually came to discuss other matters," Luca began, a bright smile on his face as he took his former professor's invitation. Spotting an unexpected guest nearby, he froze.

"Other matters can wait," Cale chastised. "I'm going to call Dean Mathers and see if we can't reinstate your enrolment somehow."

"Why!?" Luca cried, glaring balefully toward the pretty brunet standing with mocking casualness.

"Because you obviously made an irrational decision," Cale answered. Moving swiftly, he crossed the apartment and rounded his cluttered desk.

Pointing querulously, Luca spoke in an accusing tone, "Why is he here?"

Fine eyebrows rising at the unexpected confrontation, Squall remained silent. His dealings with Cale's students were non-existent, with an exception for the rash young man pointing animatedly at him. Staring keenly into brown eyes, he felt a slight unease creep up on him. He knew his dislike had nothing to do with jealousy. Nonetheless, he still didn't like Luca Miner and couldn't pinpoint why. It was apparent that the love-struck student suffered from some delusional fantasy where Cale was unfortunate enough to fit some necessary role.

"Squall is welcome in my home," Cale reprimanded sternly. Setting aside niceties, he said, "I tried to make myself clear before. Your being a student was a gentler way of saying that I'm simply not interested."

"You're not interested because you're being deceived," Luca exclaimed, eyes still focused on the president's deceptively perfect son.

Pausing in his search through piled papers, Cale gave the impertinent young man his full attention. "Luca!" he clipped, his voice rising in rare occasion. "I'm calling the dean. I will help you fix this mistake, but I will not discuss my private life."

Rebuked, Luca's face flushed. Oppressive silence falling, he waited a minute before responding. "Okay professor," he mumbled, backing up to the door again. Gaze downcast, his eyes flickered across the floor in rapid thought.

Something stirred within Squall, a silent alarm that he knew better than to ignore. Standing completely still, he made no sudden movements.

Luca swallowed thickly. Glancing up, he looked from one face to the next. "I have all my registry information in my car," he excused. "I'll be right back."

About to correct his student, Cale wasn't quick enough. The young man made a hasty exit. Having doubts about whether Luca were truly retrieving paperwork, he decided he should be looking for the dean's number anyway. He was only going to call Dean Mathers. It was past six o'clock and nothing official could be done in the registrar's office until the next day, but the dean owed him a favor and he would sleep easier if he at least knew the matter could be resolved.

Frowning deeply, Squall hesitated while staring at the door. He had a bad feeling. "Maybe you should leave him," he suggested. Walking around the couch, he moved to stand in front of the paper-strewn desk.

Shaking his head, Cale continued to sift through the desk drawers. "I can't," he replied. "He might seem a little loose in the head, but most brilliant thinkers are."

"…" Squall crossed his arms, not certain it was his place to interfere.

Finding what he had been after, Cale unfolded a rather wrinkled piece of paper that had been wedged in the back of a bottom drawer. "I'm responsible for not being clearer with him. It would be a shame to lose him from my class and the university."

"He's failing," Squall pointed out, using information he had gleaned.

"That's because he's not applying himself," Cale excused.

Biting his lip, Squall debated the evils of pressing the matter. Unable to ignore his feelings, he said in a level voice, "Helping like this will only feed his delusion."

Expression darkening, Cale stared intently at no particular point of interest on his desktop. "He's not delusional," he refuted, flipping his cell phone open to make a call to the dean.

Squall studied the professor's face. Reaching out, he clasped the man's hand that held the phone. "You're not comparing yourself to him, are you?" he asked frankly.

Staring reverently into stormy blue eyes, Cale realized he felt very sympathetic. "There are a few similarities, wouldn't you agree?"

Squall shook his head. Caring enough to elaborate, he soundly explained, "Your feelings have always been genuine. Any first year psyche major will tell you that boy has some need to fill a role in his life. I don't know if he's lost someone, but infatuation has nothing to do with why he wants to be with you."

Cale laughed softly, a warm respect for the knowledgeable fighter simmering beneath his distress over Luca. "I'm impressed. I'd forgotten about your profiling," he said. "He had an older brother up until a few months ago. He talks about him a lot."

"…" Squall had only made a few conjectures based on very little observation, but he had experience with such emotionally dependent people. He had spent the first half of his life surrounded by orphans, all of whom had looked to Garden to fill a void in life. The last time he had encountered such aggressive behavior in someone seeking a personal bond for the sake of stability, a war had resulted. Seifer had readily gone with Matron for reasons that no doubt paralleled the young student pursuing the boundlessly kind professor.

"I'm still responsible for him," Cale explained, gently detaching his hand.

Gnawing on his lower lip, Squall tried to ascertain how he might evince Cale to reconsider. "If he really is unstable, being a fulltime student is a bad idea."

Pedagoguish compulsion lifting, Cale realized the perceptive brunet was being strangely persistent. "Do you think something is wrong with Luca?" he inquired. Compromising his hasty actions, he lowered the phone to the desk.

Shrugging noncommittally, Squall wasn't able to articulate the trust he placed in his instincts. As incapable as he was with matters of the heart, his weakness was compensated by his aptitude and skill in battle. If it involved tactics and outthinking an enemy, he could place himself inside anyone's head. The current situation had nothing to do with enemy movements, but he had seen countless cadets like Luca, many of whom never became ranked SeeDs because they did not have a sound enough mentality for it. "I've seen his kind," he informed in a near whisper.

"What kind?" Cale questioned further.

Sighing, Squall adjusted his arms to fit closer in their crossed position. "He might need help," he offered reluctantly. He didn't like casting judgment, especially when psyche profiling was not his particular area of expertise.

Diffident, Cale regarded the levelheaded brunet solemnly. "Do you really think so?"

Mulling his answer over, Squall knew the professor would end up following his conclusions. Carefully processing his instinctive feelings and what he had thusly witnessed, he realized the sum of his concern exceeded the red flagging summands. "There's something else," he murmured to himself. He was missing something.

Stepping around the desk and sidling closer to the pensive brunet, Cale asked, "What? What is it?" The former commander was rather attractive with such a distant expression of calculating thought, but he quieted his impassioned blood quickly.

Eyebrows furrowing as he continued to concentrate on what he was missing, Squall took a deep breath and tried to jog whatever was hiding in his memory. Going rigid, he suddenly made the connection.

Cale became alarmed as the composed swordsman's eyes widened and complexion blanched. "What's wrong?" he pressed more firmly. Reaching out, he clasped narrow shoulders and turned the smaller man to face him.

Not speaking, Squall ignored the islander's questions. Was it possible that the eyes he had felt following on and off since Saturday belonged to Luca? Assuming the person watching him was also the person repeatedly calling him, it made sense how his number had been discovered. At length, he said, "I have no proof, but he may have been following me and calling my phone." Indifferent mask falling back into place, he hid his uneasy apprehension.

Eyes narrowing, Cale seemed at a loss for a response. "When…" he began, too disturbed by the mere concept of a stalker to finish. Clearing his throat, he tried to mimic the sturdy fighter's calm demeanor. "Since when?" he finally forced out.

Realizing he had frightened the professor, Squall tried to rectify his ominous statement. "Watching someone is harmless."

"At first maybe," Cale exclaimed. Rubbing his forehead, he paced away. "He's been calling you?"

"I don't know for sure," Squall reminded. The timing was convenient for Luca to be a suspect, but considering his level of notoriety, it could have been any number of persons.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Squall gave a shrug. "I wasn't concerned."

"But he was watching you," Cale pointed out.

"It's not aggressive to watch. I never felt threatened." Squall was lying. There had been a distinctive unnerving sensation when targeted by his unknown observer.

Both Squall and Cale turned when the apartment door slid open. Luca entered after supposedly retrieving papers pertaining to his recent withdrawal.

Upset, Cale stalked forward. His approaching steps faltered as he noticed his student eyes were red from crying. He forced his guilt away. "Luca, have you been harassing Squall?" he asked, his tone demanding.

Eyes going wide, Luca stared at the accusing man. "He's lying!" he cried defensively. "He's a lying slut!"

Cale barely managed to catch himself before slapping his student. Unsettled by his own actions, he clenched his jaw and backed away.

Confused, Squall stood in place near the desk and waited for some greater clarification. It would seem he had inadvertently spurned the young man simply by dating Cale.

Taking a deep breath, Cale glanced over at the surprisingly unaffected swordsman. When he felt calm enough to address Luca without yelling, he faced the boy and warned, "I cannot tolerate your actions against Squall."

"And I can't tolerate him," Luca shot back heatedly. "He's sleeping with other men behind your back." Glaring at the president's son, he accused, "I saw you with Irvine Kinneas and Seifer Almasy. You can't just fuck every guy in sight. You don't deserve Cale!"

Betraying no emotion, Squall stared impassively. When could Luca have seen him with Seifer or Irvine? The boy was drawing biased conclusions, but he expected no less. Refusing to argue, even to defend himself, he didn't respond.

Having heard quite enough, Cale decided he would need to straighten everything out after having time to absorb it all and calm down. "I think you should leave," he said, disappointment and anger in his voice.

"I have to show you what he truly is," Luca protested.

"You need to leave now," Cale reaffirmed. "You've repeatedly crossed the line, and what you're doing here is completely unacceptable."

Squall frowned, discomfit with the strange energy in the room. "Cale," he murmured. When the professor turned his way, he shook his head subtly. He had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. The professor's continued rejection seemed to be backing Luca into a corner. Despite the blatant reality of the situation, the persistent undergraduate behaved as though failure was not an option. He felt certain the young man would not go peacefully, not without convincing Cale of his deplorability. Ironically, he rather agreed that Cale deserved better, but saying so would hardly disillusion the boy.

Unable to read the former commander's signal, Cale gave a questioning look.

"Don't try to manipulate him," Luca hissed. "You think just because you're a little special that you can do whatever you want. Cale might be too nice to realize what you are, but I'm not blind."

"That's enough!" Cale snapped. "I don't care what he's done, I still love him. My feelings for Squall have nothing to do with you!"

"That's not true!" Luca refuted. "If it weren't for him, we could be like we used to."

Frowning, Cale became a bit uncertain as to what his student was implying. "We'll sort out your enrolment, but right now you need to leave."

"No! We can't be the same with him around. You don't care about me anymore. Everything is for that whore. Why won't you believe me?"

Angry and perplexed, Cale bit out, "Luca, what the hell are you talking about? Are you even talking about me anymore?" The last time he had checked, the closest their relationship had become was discussing possible theses for the final paper.

"No," Luca replied succinctly. Eyes widening for a doubtful moment, he quickly corrected, "Yes."

Studying the high-strung student closely, Squall finally spoke, "He's not your brother." He was hoping to take advantage of the boy's brief lapse in conflicting realities. He prayed that he wasn't wildly off base with his conclusions.

Fright overcame wide brown eyes as Luca shot the older brunet a horrified look. Though his mouth fell open to refute the man, no words came out. Remembering himself, he glared maliciously. "Shut up!" he ordered. "Don't you dare mention my brother, you fucking whore. You think you can come into our lives and mess everything up, but I won't let you. I won't-"

A loud slap resounded through the scarcely furnished apartment. Breathing unevenly, Cale lowered his hand and didn't meet his student's stunned eyes. "That's enough," he whispered harshly, his voice level seeming out of place after so much shouting. "Get out."

--

Seifer had called every number stored in the asocial mercenary's cell phone. After a handful of very awkward interrogations and arguing rather heatedly with an annoyingly protective cowboy, he still hadn't found the location of the epicene swordsman. Angry with the brunet for leaving and evading his detection, he had ceased his search and returned to work to spite the rebellious man.

Sadly, he had only spent a couple hours on site before realizing his distant location did nothing to remove unwanted thoughts of Leonhart from his head. Though he had been reluctant to admit just how bothered he was, he had resumed his search with greater fervor.

After calling the schoolteacher a second time and receiving no answer, he assumed Squall had shown up and instructed the man to screen his calls. Confident the ice prince was indeed with Bernhein, he had procured Bernhein's address and driven all the way to the first district. He figured that he could kill two birds with one stone by making certain the cozy couple was actually broken up.

Refusing to accept any help from his car's directional system, he preferred to look upon his somewhat indirect route as an educational experience in an unfamiliar city. Managing to find the right street, he began to formulate a game plan for when he came face to face with Squall. Not knowing what words he would use as an apology, he was struck with sudden genius.

Chuckling to himself, Seifer realized the solution to all his troubles had been so obvious. He would challenge Squally-boy to a fight. Fighting solved everything. The pissy prince could diffuse some anger and seek revenge. After they sparred, he would make his next move.

Flashing red lights caught his attention up ahead. He slowed down, wondering if he would need to pull over shortly. It soon became apparent that the center of the incident was stationary and that he would the one passing by.

Paying little heed to the clustered cop cars, he drove past and began to search for the right apartment complex. It was approaching seven o'clock and the sun had already set behind the tall skyline to the west, making the lighting an issue as he tried to read the distant numbers beside each building's entrance.

Eventually, Seifer realized he must have driven too far. Turning around, he accepted a minor helping hand from the GPS, simply to confirm that he was at least on the correct street.

Approaching the parked police vehicles again, a sneaking suspicion formed. Suddenly apprehensive, he pulled over. He watched as an ambulance joined the scene, no siren blaring. No sirens either meant that no one had been hurt or it was too late to do anything.

Cutting the engine, Seifer leaned forward and rested his forearms against the steering wheel. Scouring the area, he let out a long sigh upon finding Bernhein's apartment. His assured mind didn't even consider the possibility that the resilient commander was in trouble.

Seifer bide his time staring through the front windshield. He wanted to gauge the situation before approaching. His timing seemed rather auspicious considering the crowd of neighbors began flocking only after his arrival. After five minutes, a low ranking officer assigned crowd control duty blocked the surrounding area off. With an apparent need for discretion, the flashing lights were turned off.

Green eyes sharpened as figures emerged from the clear glass doors at the top of a short stoop. The first response medics exited trolling a gurney. Swallowing thickly, he was slow to comprehend that he wasn't seeing a battered islander, but a body bag.

Numb to the revelation that he had reason to be concerned for his rival's well being, Seifer stared blankly. A disbelieving knot of dread formed in the pit of his stomach as the pair of medics stowed one lifeless body away. Prompted into action upon the arrival of a second ambulance, he got out of his car and walked toward the gawking crowd of onlookers.

Mouth dry, Seifer stood taller than anyone else nearby while staring uncertainly through the front doors of the four-story apartment building. His heart beat faster than it should have been and his whole body tensed up as he waited. Clenching his jaw tightly, he watched as the second paramedic team eventually exited towing a second body bag with solemn expressions that told him nothing about what was going on inside.

Senses slowly returning, the sound of the crowd began to drown out his jumbled thoughts.

"I'm positive it was five shots," a nearby voice preached.

Catching the words of an older man, Seifer listened more closely. He didn't know what was going on and couldn't assume Leonhart was involved. In fact, the brunet might not have shown up at Bernhein's apartment in the first place. His anxiety was probably unfounded.

"Oh Harold, what does it matter?" a woman's voice replied, a sob sounding shortly after.

Glancing over, Seifer saw an older couple standing huddled together. The grey haired woman held a handkerchief to her face while leaning heavily against the potbellied man's side.

"It matters," the balding man stated gravely. "What we told the police will help. Our accuracy is the only thing we can do to help now." Appearing quite upset as well, he stared towards the ambulances while holding his wife close.

The older woman in her seventies continued to cry. Choking on her words, she managed to stop her sobs long enough to say, "There's nothing we can do to help. That sweet man is gone and there's nothing anybody can do."

"Excuse me," Seifer interrupted, stepping closer. "What happened?" A distant part of his mind began berating his foolish procrastination in finding his rival. Why the hell had he returned to work?

Though the wife seemed too bereaved to respond, the husband glanced towards the tall blond. Jowls moving as he spoke with contempt, the old man stated, "A bloody awful tragedy, that's what. The cops are calling it one of those murder-suicide cases." Glancing back to the apartment building, he spat, "It makes me sick just thinking about how such bad things happen to good people."

Sobs becoming louder, the old woman began to draw attention from the surrounding crowd. "That poor man," she cried hysterically, turning against her husband's shoulder.

Patting his wife on the back, Harold glanced sidelong. "It's a rotten world," he muttered disdainfully. "The professor hasn't done anybody a lick of harm. I've lived next door to him since he was student himself." He looked up at the newcomer. "If you had asked him anything, he would have known the answer. He was smart as a whip."

Seifer was slammed with the gut wrenching realization that the location of the incident was no coincidence. On the verge of a cold sweat, his stomach tightened. He was a veteran fighter, but no one was immune to the gravity of death. "Who else?" he asked, voice almost cracking in its dryness.

Shaking his head solemnly, Harold admitted, "Our whole floor knew he had a new lover. Cale never stopped smiling."

Seifer took a deep breath as the ground beneath his feet began to feel unsteady. He didn't know if he wanted to hear more. Without any detailed information, he could pretend Leonhart was safely beside Kinneas as they talked about the best ways of exacting revenge.

Silent for a heavy moment, the old man spoke again at length, "We saw the boy go in. Hyne, if I'd known what he was going to do…" Sighing wearily, he rubbed his hand over his mouth. "We were out later than usual. Maybe if we hadn't been so rushed to get back, we would have noticed something."

Sitting on his next question, Seifer couldn't bring himself to ask it. There were two bodies, one was Bernhein and the other was apparently Bernhein's lover. Rubbing his forehead as he tried to come to terms with such news, he futilely tried to reason that because of the pending breakup, Squall was disqualified as a candidate for the dead lover. He simply couldn't comprehend such circumstances that placed his childhood rival in one of the black bags the paramedics had brought out. "What did he look like?" he finally asked, his voice void of all emotion.

Whispering a few consoling words to his wife, Harold took his time before responding. Sniffing reflexively, he said, "He was young, kind of skinny. I only saw the back of his head. He had real messy hair."

Slowly, Seifer questioned, "He was a brunet?"

"Yeah," Harold muttered, clearing his throat as his wife's sobbing state threatened to bring him to tears as well. Staring forward, his face twitched under the strain of remaining composed. "Now they're both dead," he said gruffly, lips pressed together tight.

Bereft of all rational thought, Seifer started forward automatically. Unable to cross the invisible barrier, he flagged an officer over.

A patrolman in blue uniform approached. "Sir, this is a crime scene-"

"Save it," Seifer interrupted. "I'm family," he lied, knowing family members were the only people given sanctioned details. "I want to know what happened."

Appearing perturbed, the officer crossed his arms and gazed up at the tall man. "Family to whom?"

Clearing his throat, fearing it might crack under the strain of forcing his words out, Seifer replied, "Squall Leonhart." Expecting to be asked for some identification, he doubted his ability to lie in his current state of distress. He couldn't quite believe that his rival was dead. It didn't seem possible.

"Can you get him to talk?" the officer questioned eagerly, attitude suddenly changing.

"What?" Seifer questioned, his focus having drifted for a moment.

"Mr. Leonhart isn't being very forthcoming right now, probably from shock. If I let you through, can you get him to talk?"

Eyes narrowing, Seifer pinned the patrolman with a dangerously sharp gaze. "He's alive?" he questioned tersely, his chest tightening to such a painful degree that he almost grimaced.

Brows rising in wary uncertainty, the young officer nodded.

"Let me through," Seifer ordered, his tone deathly persuasive.

TBC…

**Author's Note:** I'm sorry, sorry, sorry! It's been so long since I updated. I don't know if I'm just being too anal about my writing or if there just isn't that natural flow that used to let me type out two chapters a week. Sadly, summer does not bring any free time for me to focus on writing. I'm going full time for the summer semester, and half my classes run right up until the fall semester. I didn't want to leave it at too much of a cliffhanger, but I didn't want to put off posting just so I could write the next scene. For the record, this was indeed the way I had things planned out from the beginning, even if it's really clichéd. I am concerned about plausibility, since it all sort of came out of nowhere. One cliché I will avoid is using this situation to make Seifer suddenly realize he's in love. Well, I hope it was at least worth the wait. Thank you guys for all the supportive reviews. I'll try really hard to post the next chapter a.s.a.p.


	28. Chapter 28

Note: the opening of this chapter is at a time earlier than when Seifer arrived outside Cale's apartment in the end of the last chapter.

Defining Love

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Irvine concluded his heated conversation with the perpetually belligerent ex-knight by mashing the end-call button on his cell phone. Resisting the urge to toss the innocent device into the air and shoot it to pieces, he cursed instead.

He suspected Almasy had some sort of sixth sense for knowing the most inopportune times to stir up trouble. He had been in the middle of meditating for his competition. After the distress he had so recently been caused, he would be unable to clear his mind no matter how long he worked at it.

Hearing from the arrogant blond in the first place had been aggravating enough, but to know Squall's phone was in the forceful man's hands meant the pair had come into contact that day.

Playing the role of a concerned friend, he decided to visit Squall's apartment. From what he could gather after Almasy's line of questioning, his commander had gone AWOL.

Knocking as a courtesy on Squall's apartment door, Irvine didn't actually wait for anyone to answer before he entered his code and swiped his card. Honored with being one of very few people permitted entry at all times, as he stored his card in his wallet he remembered why Selphie's privilege had been revoked after a strange incident involving a birthday surprise.

"It's me," he called out as a precaution. Hastening inside, he took a quick look around the main flat. It was almost four o'clock and the asocial mercenary would have a scarce number of places to go on a Wednesday afternoon.

With a sigh, Irvine migrated to the master bedroom. He hadn't expected to find Squall at home because it was just common sense for the ex-knight to have checked there before calling him.

Absently wondering if he was overprotective by nature or by necessity, he surmised that regardless of how mandating his friendship with Squall was at times, the selectively capable commander needed all the help he could give. He didn't consider it a burden, just worrisome. If Almasy's interference were truly a result of jealousy, then the recent turmoil in Squall's life was by chain reaction a result of his insistent matchmaking.

Glancing inside the spacious bedroom, violet-blue eyes landed on the unoccupied bed. "Squall?" he called out again, noticing the way the comforter was disturbed.

Receiving no response, he stepped back into the hallway. An uneasy suspicion formed in the back of his mind as he looked to either side of the dim corridor. The question that was bothering him the most was what had happened during the time Squall had apparently been in contact with Seifer.

Gravitating instinctively, as if knowing he would find something in the spare bedroom, he bypassed Lore's room completely. Standing motionless in the open doorway, he surveyed the room. A closer examination wasn't necessary to draw obvious conclusions. He stalked forward and angrily yanked at the strewn bedding. Fabric whipping the air, he gathered the sheets and quilt up.

More than not wanting Lore to find the soiled bedding, he didn't want any trace of the bastard ex-knight in the apartment.

Taking it upon himself, Irvine laundered all evidence of Seifer and Squall's meeting. He knew the answer to his question and couldn't imagine a worse one.

Vengeance suddenly foremost in his mind, it wasn't until his cell phone began ringing that he snapped out of his daydream involving the sorceress' lapdog full of bullet holes. Grumbling under his breath, he was slow to realize Lore was the one calling.

"What's up?" he answered as calmly as possible.

"Hey," Lore greeted stiffly. Hesitating, there was dead air for several moments. "Did Seifer call you?" he finally asked.

Barely containing the curses that his lips felt prone to forming at the mere mention of Seifer Almasy's name, Irvine coughed to cover his slip. "He called about your dad," he replied. He followed casually with, "Is your dad with you?" The second place he would have thought to search for the commander was with Lore.

"No," Lore answered in a worried tone. "I talked to Dad a couple hours ago, sort of."

"What do you mean by sort of?"

Lore confessed guiltily, "I only talked long enough to let him know I'd be staying with Grandpa tonight."

Leaving the washer to do its job, Irvine exited the bathroom and traveled back to the studio flat of the apartment. "Do you know where your dad is right now?" he asked rather demandingly, forgetting for a moment who he was speaking to.

"No."

Irvine scoffed. "Then that makes two of us," he commented.

"Three," Lore corrected. "Seifer wanted to know too."

Developing an automated response, Irvine squeezed his phone tightly. "You sound less upset about yesterday," he said to keep their conversation going.

"I'm not," Lore admitted. "Is my dad missing or something? Should I be worried?"

Not wanting to panic the boy, Irvine settled for a noncommittal response. "If Almasy's involved, it usually means trouble, but your dad is pretty smart when it comes to avoiding trouble."

"Yesterday," Lore began hesitantly, "what was that about? I mean, why was my dad…"

"Not putting up a fight?" Irvine readily supplied. They both knew it was the exact opposite of putting up a fight. When he had walked in, the rivaling swordsmen had both appeared ready to fuck each other right in the apartment's entryway. Lore had no doubt overheard just how consensual an affair it had been.

"Yeah."

"I'm on my way to see you by the way," Irvine said off topic as he left the apartment. "Are you at the palace?"

"No. Grandpa likes to stay at a smaller place. It's in the first district still."

"Okay, text me the address so I can save it." Waiting a moment, Irvine's phone signaled a received message. He glanced at the address and nodded to himself when he recognized the street. Refocusing on his conversation, he explained, "Your dad has a lot of really confusing feelings for Seifer." He longed kick the blond's ass.

"Confusing how?" Lore snapped. "He lied to me. He could have told me what was going on."

Frowning, Irvine remarked, "What? He was supposed to tell you that he was involved with someone you disapproved of?

"It would have been better to tell the truth," Lore reasoned ardently.

Shaking his head, Irvine admonished, "You're old enough to understand that this isn't something your dad is proud of. You know how he hates disappointing you."

"I was more disappointed by his lies."

"I think you're the one lying now," Irvine stated matter-of-factly. "I think you're really upset because you were in a situation where you wanted to protect your dad, but just couldn't."

Lore didn't respond.

"It was an intimidating and shocking situation for you. I know you don't want to hear this, but you're only sixteen and you're still a kid in a lot of ways. It's not your fault for freezing up."

"But I've always said I'd protect him!" Lore exclaimed abruptly. "I know it's not my job, but that's how I feel. I want to protect him, so why didn't I? All I had to do was walk up to them and let them know I was there."

"It's not your fault," Irvine reiterated.

"I'm not so sure of that," Lore returned.

"It's not your dad's fault either, so go easy on him." Irvine wondered whether this was the first falling out the perfect father-son pair had ever had. While he was far from enthused about the circumstances, a bit of unrest might serve to do some good for the stubborn duo who had never dealt with the darker side of family relations. Being so close and having such a strong attachment to each other meant lies and deceit were potent agents to breed distrust if Squall and Lore didn't learn to accept that it wasn't always about warm feelings.

"It's hard to talk to him now," Lore mumbled morosely.

Chuckling, Irvine assured, "Talking isn't the hard part. Saying what you really want to say is the problem. He already knows that you know, so you'll have to discuss it sooner or later."

Intoning a sound of agreement, Lore then asked, "How come you're coming to see me?"

Irvine stepped off the elevator. "I'm trying to find Squall," he answered, his worry increasing as he recalled the manner he had found the guest bed in. "If he shows up anywhere, it'll be where you are."

"Something is going on," Lore surmised uneasily. "Has something happened or is this more of that unnecessary worry you're always telling me I have?"

Taking a deep breath, Irvine tried to think of how best to explain the current situation to Lore. "I honestly don't know," he finally replied. "I just don't like not being able to get a hold of your dad." Agitatedly he added, "Almasy having your dad's phone really pisses me off too."

"You sound pissed off," Lore commented.

"Sorry. None of what's bothering me is 'cause of you."

"But you're mad about something. Is it really just about Seifer?"

"Yes, it's really just about him," Irvine answered. "Listen, I'll see you in twenty minutes or so, let's talk then."

--

Seifer waited with bated breath, wondering if he would be permitted within the police parameter or not. The officer on crowd control didn't seem too bright, but he had no idea who else was inside the building. He imagined someone with half a brain could figure out he who he was, even if his face had been out of circulation for years.

Officer Shilo sought confirmation before letting the tall blond through. "Steiner, I got someone here who knows Leonhart." Silent as he listened to the voice carried to the earpiece he wore, he shifted on foot. "Yeah, well if we can get him to talk, ain't that better?" He cleared his throat. Holding his cuff away, he addressed the man claiming to be family to the pretty boy without a tongue. "We might release him and he'll come to you out here."

Impassive, Seifer didn't seem to hear the officer's words.

"I'm still here, where the hell else am I going tonight?" Shilo muttered in an impatient tone. "Okay, I'll take him inside then. Meet him off the lift." Shaking his head in exasperation, the officer produced a small device from his belt. Holding the device up to the invisible barrier, he waited a moment. "Come on over," he directed surreptitiously.

Seifer moved smoothly, his long legs only needing to take a single step to stand abreast of the young officer.

Resetting the barrier, Shilo hurried to lead the blond inside.

Seifer forced himself to slow down after he rushed up the steps of Bernhein's apartment building.

"I'm Officer Shilo," the patrolman informed as he led the way to the lifts on the far end of the small lobby.

Seifer was about to introduce himself when he realized how obvious it would be that he wasn't family. "Is he okay?" he spoke instead, hoping he could at least keep the lie going long enough to set his sights on Leonhart. He didn't understand where his concern came from or why he couldn't simply leave with the knowledge that his rival was alive.

"That depends on what you mean by 'okay'," Officer Shilo commented. "The paramedics already tended to him, so I don't know what's what. My partner told me had some pretty nasty scars, but he's fine now."

Seifer scoffed. "He's always had scars. What injuries did he sustain?"

Lips forming a thoughtful frown, the patrolman informed, "I don't know. The lieutenant can tell you more."

Seifer stood in front of the glowing lift, eyes cast upwards at the ceiling. He could feel his heart beating fiercely and it was becoming quite annoying.

"It's the second floor," Shilo said. "Officer Steiner will direct you after this." Nodding in parting, he turned and strode away to resume his post.

Grumbling in annoyance, Seifer mumbled his instructions to the lift almost indiscernibly. Whisked away, he crossed his arms as though the short ride were taking too long. Within a few seconds he stared down at a stocky middle-aged officer who wore the same streetwalking uniform as the previous lawman. "Officer Steiner, I presume," he greeted smarmily, his mood too dark to care who he insulted.

Gaze narrowing suspiciously, Officer Steiner studied the formidable man with unflinching eyes. Raising his chin, he questioned, "You got ID?"

Quirking a single eyebrow, Seifer returned, "Just like every other law abiding citizen." A ghost of smirk betrayed his conscious effort at being a smart ass.

Clucking his tongue, the older man adjusted the waist of his pants while sizing the younger and larger man up. "I don't see the family resemblance," he muttered. Eventually finding interest in the narrow pink scar running diagonally betwixt green eyes, he stared pointedly.

"It's not polite to stare," Seifer chastised condescendingly. He crossed his arms in a wordless statement that it would take an army to remove him.

Huffing, Officer Steiner said, "I couldn't help but notice your scar. I might think you were Seifer Almasy if I didn't know any better."

"Would you?" Seifer muttered with an air of subtle arrogance. Wondering briefly if he was going to have to beat an officer up in order to reach Leonhart, he was surprised by how easily he decided that he was willing to do whatever was necessary.

Two apartments down along the long and wide corridor of the second floor, a door slid open and out stepped a very pale, very haggard looking Squall. Dark brown hair was askew in a manner that suggested an entire night of restless sleeplessness and stormy blue eyes seemed void of all emotion. The fighter's lithe body seemed lifeless beyond its functional animation.

Closely following was someone Seifer had never seen before, a man just shy of six feet with sandy blond hair and sharp brown eyes. Dressed in plainsman clothing, he wore black slacks, a white dress shirt, and a black tie held with a silver clip. The gun holstered at his hip and air of authority he commanded suggested he was the man in charge.

Green eyes watching closely, Seifer waited for his rival to look up and see him. It wasn't like the brunet to gaze at the ground while walking, but he supposed an array of strange behavior was warranted under the strenuous circumstances.

Delayed in realizing his surroundings, Squall was close to arms length from Seifer before noticing the ex-knight was even there. Head snapping up, he took a surprised step back, right into Lieutenant Garber. Brows furrowed, he silently questioned why the blond was there.

Seifer studied lackluster grey-blue eyes for several long moments. He didn't like what he saw. He especially didn't like how the prick standing behind Leonhart placed bracing hands on his rival's narrow shoulders. "Need a lift?" he spoke in greeting, his eyes flickering to the man behind the brunet.

Receiving a heated glare from jade green eyes, Lieutenant Garber casually removed his hands from Mr. Leonhart's shoulders and pondered the intricacies of why Seifer Almasy would take such offense. "I'm surprised you're the first to arrive."

"Just lucky I guess," Seifer spat uncivilly.

Studying the ex-knight curiously, the lieutenant introduced, "I'm Lieutenant Garber. I'm in charge of this crime scene and hope you don't mind answering a few questions."

Detecting some sort of challenge, Seifer smirked. There was little need for an introduction when the lieutenant obviously recognized him. "Not at all," he replied, stepping closer. Without a shred of subtlety, he slipped an arm around his rival's shoulders and pulled the unresponsive man closer. Though he had never wished Bernhein dead, he wasn't about to face another contender after the playing field had so recently been cleared.

Response delayed, Squall squirmed against the blond's muscular side and tried to break away without overtly signaling his distress. His mind was numb and he didn't have the energy to deal with Seifer while processing everything that had happened that night.

Seifer kept his hold firm, unwilling to release his rival. He had quite a few questions he would like to ask himself, but his urge to dash away with Leonhart was growing stronger. When the perpetually stubborn man ceased struggling, he became rather alarmed.

Squall stopped squirming, his mind lost amidst replaying visions of Cale dying. It had been an unnecessary death, a death wasted on protecting him. Hearing the sound of each gunshot as clearly and distinctly as if it were actually happening, his heavy eyelids twitched once, then twice, and then a third time. Grey-blue eyes staring forward, Squall did not acknowledge Seifer's presence or even see the lieutenant standing a foot away. With the last gunshot, long lashes fell to cover weary eyes, the image of Luca with a gun filled his head and he felt sick as he counted the number of missed opportunities he had to prevent the events of that night.

Lieutenant Garber gazed concernedly at the president's son. Though he had never been a soldier, after ten years on the force, he understood what it was like. The difference between death on the battlefield and death at home was vast. Without mental preparation, the experience was devastating. Too empathetic to the brunet's situation, he let out a gruff sigh and turned his attention to Seifer Almasy. "I'm not going to keep him here. He's not talking, but he wrote it all down in detail. I want him to come by the station tomorrow, but he's free to leave tonight."

Squeezing tighter, Seifer tried to force a reaction out of the smaller man. When the brunet continued to stare blankly, his frown deepened. "Perhaps your questions for me can wait as well," he proposed, becoming increasingly concerned that the weathered fighter was seriously out of sorts.

"I suppose it can," the lieutenant agreed. Reaching inside pant's pocket, he produced a card and handed it off. "That's the precinct's address. Anytime before noon is fine."

Card held up between his index finger and middle finger, Seifer gave a mock salute before forcibly directing Leonhart away towards the lift.

--

Providing a ride home, Seifer monitored Leonhart's state through a habitual series of sidelong glances. It was a long fifteen-minute ride and by the end of it some life seemed to have returned to grey-blue eyes. Proof of his rival's returning senses was in the man's ability to walk without his guide.

Trailing behind, Seifer studied his silent rival's somber form. Prepared to baby-sit for the night, he wondered what the rulebooks said about bringing up outstanding issues during such a time. Did he dare apologize for something that Leonhart probably didn't want to even think about?

Never one to follow protocol, Seifer spoke up, "Listen Leonhart, about before, I'm sorry."

Squall came to a stop in the middle of the hallway, only a few doors away from his apartment. Shoulders tensing, he seemed about to say something, but began walking again instead.

Having practically groveled, Seifer was annoyed at the lack of response. With a lengthened gait, he caught up to the brunet. "Hold it," he said, gripping the shorter man's upper arm.

Reacting as though the ex-knight's touch were acid, Squall tore away and glared. Not needing words, he successfully sent the message that he did not want to be touched. He had had quite enough after being escorted from Cale's apartment building.

Running on a short fuse, Seifer's temper was easily ignited. "Get over it," he hissed, not specifying which incident he was referring to.

Steely blue eyes sharpened dangerously, confrontation serving to focus his mind on the present.

"Seriously," Seifer added, not backing down. "Are you going to become one of those traumatized weaklings who don't know to deal and never speak again?"

"…" Too angry to resent any new insults, Squall simply continued to glare.

Sighing in exasperation, Seifer softened his expression and tried to convey some level of understanding. "I get that you're upset right now," he said, his frustrated tone betraying his lack of patience. "I'm upset too." At the look of disbelief that entered sharp eyes, he added, "Hey, I thought you were in one of those body bags, so yeah I was a little upset."

Cold fury in his eyes, Squall opened his mouth to call the ex-knight's obvious lie, but he thought better of it at the last second. Never believing for a moment that the blond could possibly care about his continued existence, he decided an argument over such an issue was pointless and disrespectful to the person he should be focused on.

Practically hearing the brunet's melodious voice speak in his head, Seifer became angry when he was denied a vocal response. "Dammit, would you say something already?" The silent man hadn't said a single word to him yet.

Bowed lips only pressed together more tightly. Squall turned away and progressed closer to his apartment.

"I'm not a nice guy," Seifer reminded, closing in on the stubborn man again. Reaching out quickly, he managed to snag the back of Leonhart's sleeveless black shirt before the swift fighter could evade his grasp. Yanking the brunet's lithe body off balance, he proceeded to pin the man to the wall. "What makes you think I'm going to start going easy on you now?"

"Disappear," Squall whispered, maneuvering away.

Crease forming between his brows as evidence of his confusion, Seifer almost let the brunet escape before remembering himself. "Not so fast," he muttered, forcing the capable fighter back into place. "Just what is that supposed to mean exactly?" Shaking his head, he concluded that it was difficult enough coaxing words out of the laconic loner on a good day. On a bad day it was damn near impossible.

"I don't want to see you again," shapely lips whispered softly. The strength of meaning behind his words delivered in such a sincere tone that he might as well have shouted in fury.

Seifer just laughed, though he couldn't ignore the twinge of pain he felt in his chest. "Tell me something I don't know," he returned. Smirking at having finally coerced the brunet to open up, he added, "What you say is generally a lot different from what your body tells me."

Abashed, Squall did not take the ex-knight's implication lightly. Shoving the man away, he made a dash for his apartment. It took energy to argue and keep his defenses up, energy he just didn't have. He couldn't deal with Seifer that night.

Entirely amused, Seifer chased after his rival, which he had become quite good at after his eventful day. Given his close starting proximity, the only way Leonhart could have escaped was if he had taken pity on the man. Latching on to an upper arm, his blood became excited when the feisty brunet threw a punch. Catching the expected attack, he used their combined momentum and hauled the fighter towards the doorway. Having been the last to leave, he had made a few minor adjustments to the security system. He had foreseen a future involving being locked out.

"Let go," Squall hissed, wrenching his fist free and attempting to do the same with his arm. "Stop it. Leave me alone." He knew there was a way of breaking the ex-knight's strong hold, but he couldn't remember it. His somatic responses were failing and his mind was too jumbled to remember his training. He just wanted to be alone.

"Not tonight," Seifer admonished, keying in his own code. No key card necessary, he was recognized as the master controller, something he took a brief moment to relish. Not wasting too much time, he ushered the brunet inside.

Jerking away, Squall tried to detach from the manhandling blond, but only succeeded in hurting his arm.

With some guilt, Seifer tried not to squeeze too hard, but the resisting swordsman was making it difficult. "I don't think anyone's home," he commented calmly, as though he weren't in the middle of a power struggle. Grunting seconds later, he lost his wind when a bony knee married his diaphragm. Quick to react, he snatched the offending leg before it could be utilized in an escape. Coughing, his anger flared and caused him to respond more roughly than he intended.

Squall hit the floor hard when the ex-knight heaved his leg up. Managing to at least hit his back evenly, his head was the last to succumb to the evils of gravity. An alarmingly loud crack sounded as his occipital bone's durability was tested. Disoriented for a few moments, he lost track of his assailant. Remaining listless, he waited briefly before attempting to move. He cringed at the pain flaring through his skull as he turned onto his side.

Huffing a disgruntled note, Seifer chastised, "See what you made me do?"

"Bastard," Squall hissed, tentatively sitting upright.

"You started this," Seifer pointed out. Extending a hand, he offered assistance to the fallen man.

Having spent a decent portion of his life glaring at the arrogant blond, Squall didn't need to be completely focused to know when to give a glare. Ignoring the offered hand, he carefully knelt and then stood up. Rubbing the back of his head gently, he scowled at the realization that he had lost. The selfish ex-knight would be impossible to remove from his home.

"Where are you going?" Seifer questioned as the brunet moved away. Making to follow, he nearly collided with the smaller fighter when the man came to an abrupt halt.

"Leave," Squall murmured quietly. In an even softer voice, he added, "Please." He just couldn't deal with Seifer's antics, especially when those antics were no longer harmless. To have the ex-knight there after what happened with Cale was wrong in every respect.

"I won't bother you tonight," Seifer responded. Clapping a hand to a delicate shoulder, he stared at the back of wayward brown hair. "But I am staying." The urge to touch Leonhart at that moment was quite strong, but he resisted out of sympathy.

Having expended his last resource, Squall could only do one thing after asking politely. Taking a deep breath, he cleared his mind. Forgetting that his head was throbbing and that he should perhaps make certain his lump wasn't dangerously large, he turned and struck the imposing blond.

Cursing, Seifer swiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. "You're still up for games, huh?" he muttered. With a scoff, he challenged, "You can't make me leave."

Fine brows drawing together with unexpressed anguish, Squall couldn't even begin to explain that he was suddenly filled with the urge to fight because it erased everything from his mind. Attacking again, his motivations had nothing to do with actually being angry.

Laughing with amusement, Seifer caught the fist aimed at his head. Jumping back, he pulled the smaller man with him. He stepped to the side and employed a deft maneuver to place Leonhart in a firm locking hold. "Be careful, I'm looking for an excuse to lay my hands on you."

Grunting with his effort, Squall reared back to smack Seifer hard in the chin with the back of his head. Doing more damage to the back of his already injured head than to the arrogant blond's hard chin, it still served to stun the man long enough to break free. As revenge for everything and anything, he planted his fist in the ex-knight's gut, which was very much like punching a solid wall.

Seifer could feel the force of Leonhart's striking fist through his entire midsection. The man was small, but could pack one hell of a punch. Hunched forward, he backhanded the brunet into the nearby wall. "I can go all night," he taunted.

Straightening, hand braced against the wall he collided against, Squall glared at the cocky blond. Licking blood from his lip, he stood away from the wall. "Prove it," he spat, fists raised to signal he was ready to go again.

Blood on fire, Seifer was strangely turned on by the magnitude of strength he saw in stormy blue eyes. There was no fear, not a single trace of the vulnerability revealed after he had penetrated the man with force. There was no one stronger than his rival, not even himself. They were indeed equals among the highest elite. Their strength and skill was mirrored in everyway. The thought of exploring sex with such an ironically compatible person was beyond exciting.

Realizing his desires were escalating, Seifer decided to find an outlet through fighting, lest he end up raping the man. He motioned for Leonhart to attack, hoping his concentration wasn't affected by his growing hard on.

Squall's chest tightened painfully and before images of Cale could surface in his mind, he lashed out against Seifer.

--

Heart racing, Seifer stood posed in a defensive stance for several anticipating moments. Covered with a thin sheen of sweat, his body was aching with complaints of heavy bruises and more than a few cuts on the inside of his mouth. Green eyes stared sharply as an exhausted and disoriented Leonhart slowly clambered up from the ground.

In disbelief, Seifer watched the fierce fighter stand unsteadily, unfocused eyes targeting him as an opponent. Having had quite enough, he was prepared to deal a final blow regardless of how cruel it might be. Before he could make his move, a sluggish and thoroughly beat up brunet swayed. Not thinking twice, his legs strode forward and his strong arms supported an unconscious pretty boy.

"It's about fucking time," Seifer groused, slipping an arm behind slack knees and sweeping the stubborn man up off the ground. A cursory scan of the domestic battlegrounds showed knocked over furniture, a few spatters of blood, several holes in the walls, and a television that probably wouldn't turn on again. There was a reason why fights weren't staged indoors, but he doubted the strangely aggressive swordsman cared very much about anything that night.

Walking off towards Leonhart's bedroom, Seifer carried the physically drained man. He had known such an end was only a matter of time, but hadn't thought their fight would last so long. The apartment would have crumbled down around them had gunblades been involved. As it was, he had sustained more than his fare share of scratches and bruises and lost the top few buttons on his white dress shirt. Dodging was Leonhart's forte, though he could block almost anything if he reacted quick enough.

Glancing down at the effeminate creature in his arms, Seifer was both content and unsettled to see the same amount of damage. "I suppose I'm to clean you up now," he murmured to himself, pushing the bedroom door open with his boot.

Gingerly, Seifer laid the light form of his rival down on the bed. His hand cradled the back of the man's head gently, his fingers disturbed by the feel of swelling. Thinking it best to give the brunet a potion before possible head trauma cause the unconscious man to slip into a coma, Seifer straightened up and began to turn away. Not even managing to take a first step, his wrist was caught by a weak grasp.

With a deep frown in place, Seifer turned back to his rival. Staring down, he met dim eyes with question in his own. He was surprised the former commander was conscious again. Reversing the loose grip, he took Leonhart's thin wrist in his grasp and sat on the edge of the bed. The sinking of the mattress seemed to stir the brunet for a moment, but the injured man did nothing more than peer at him from beneath drooping eyelids.

Green eyes searched for some indication of what his rival wanted. He couldn't read such a clouded gaze when it was fogged and not entirely rooted in reality. He could not follow into the depths of Leonhart's vast mind and was left wondering what the man wanted from him when it was plainly obvious he had been stopped from leaving for a reason.

"What is it?" Seifer asked. Leaning over the still form of his rival, he directed the slack arm he held up to rest back down on the bed, pinning it pointlessly if only to reinforce his domineering position.

Squall stared at the ex-knight. His body screamed at him to not move an inch. Pain radiated from too many places to pinpoint any one location. He knew there was something he should be remembering, but nothing came to mind. Something had happened, something bad, but he couldn't figure out what it was. As the blond leaned over him, heat stirred inside his sore body. He had the strangest desire for the musky scented blond. His lips needed to be kissed, but that was hardly a request he was going to make.

Eyes flickering to pout lips, Seifer stared intensely at the attractive shape. The bottom lip was slightly swollen on one side, a hint of blood in the corner. Acting on compulsion, his tongue met the small cut on enticing lips, licking the wound clean.

Letting out a small gasp, Squall flexed the fingers of his left hand and felt Seifer's grip tighten on his forearm as a result. Not quite willing to instigate anything, he lay quiet and submissive as the blond's tongue slid deeper, moving inside his mouth and finally meeting his own tongue.

Seifer moved at an agonizingly slow pace. He tasted blood, the coppery tang hardly a pleasant flavor, but the warmth and slickness of his rival's mouth was too arousing to stop. His lips pressed against Leonhart's while his tongue invaded the man's mouth. Careful at first, he initiated a gentle kiss that was little more than their tongues twining while their lips consequently meshed slickly.

Breath hitching, Seifer braced his free arm on the other side of the reclining fighter's form. Short of climbing atop the man, he leaned his upper body closer. Before he could move further, he broke away. With a deep breath, he looked down and reined his desires in.

Squall remained listless, his eyes closed and his body on fire. It suddenly grew cold without the blond kissing him, but he didn't complain.

"I'm going to grab a couple potions. For Hyne's sake, don't go anywhere this time," Seifer muttered, standing swiftly from the bed before he lost control and mauled the tantalizingly defenseless invalid.

Remembering he had left a set of potions in Leonhart's kitchen, Seifer walked briskly under the assurance that it would be impossible for the brunet to slip away without his noticing. His unease was not alleviated though, causing him to break into a jog once he snatched the clear vials from the countertop. Rushing to the bedroom door, he filled the entrance and looked to the bed as though expecting it to be empty.

Grumbling inwardly, Seifer ran a hand through disheveled blond locks and berated his ridiculous behavior. He approached the bed while uncapping one thin vial. As he gazed downward, it seemed to him that Leonhart was sleeping, gentle breaths escaping barely parted lips. Hesitating for a moment, he eventually sat back on the edge of the bed, but his disturbance didn't seem to stir the man, which neither suggested nor refuted the possibility that Squall was asleep.

Downing the first vial of healing liquid, Seifer waited for the tingling sensation to subside. Health restored in the strange instantaneous manner than was quite unnatural for the body to deal with, he glanced down at the former commander. "Your turn," he murmured.

Squall stirred, his eyes opening partway to look up at Seifer. He was still trying to remember. "I forgot," he said quietly. "I forgot something."

With an appeasing nod, Seifer helped prop the brunet's head up. Before the second vial touched expectantly parted lips, he retracted it. A quick glance into stormy blue eyes informed him that Leonhart wasn't going to protest anything he did, which was somehow both arousing and entirely un-sexy at the same time.

Lacking the sexual tension and barely contained passion that had been between them in recent weeks, Seifer wondered if he could coax some sort of reaction out of the apathetic man. Tilting the contents of the second vial into his own mouth, he hastily bent to administer the tasteless liquid in an unceremonious fashion.

Squall swallowed reflexively, choking a bit as he did so. It wasn't easy to drink something while having a second tongue invading his mouth.

Chuckling darkly, Seifer nipped at his rival's lower lip while questioning, "Better?"

Replying awkwardly, Squall intoned a quiet, "Hmn."

"Good," Seifer returned, making his move. He pushed Leonhart back down, slowly straddling the man and kissing soft lips greedily. "I'll comfort you," he explained, hand ghosting beneath the black tank top his rival had on.

As heat pooled in his loins, Squall began to have the distinct feeling that something was terribly wrong. He wasn't even sure why Seifer was in his bedroom or why the ex-knight was kissing him, and he understood even less about why he was kissing the man back. Arching into the rough feel of a calloused hand brushing over his nipple, an overwhelming sensation of guilt assaulted him.

Squall couldn't tell if his body had healed properly, because he still felt pained. Turning his head away, he rejected the lustful exploration of his mouth. He needed to remember what had happened. Why did he feel on the brink of tears with a welling lump in his throat and burning sensation in his eyes?

Not willing to give up, Seifer placed his lips upon a slender neck. He let his thumb brush over a hard nipple, winning a soft moan from the brunet. "That's it," he encouraged, sucking hard at a beating pulse.

In an abstruse situation where his mind would not work quickly enough and his body seemed far more interested in accepting the heated touches Seifer lavished him with, Squall stared contritely to the side. His chest hurt, the pain near unbearable in contrast to the pulsing pleasure that ran through him.

Wryly admitting defeat, Seifer broke away and hovered for several moments before hanging his head and sighing. There was no point in continuing any further.

Pleasure taken away, Squall stiffened abruptly, staring wide eyed across the room. Cale's face filled his mind and he finally remembered. He remembered breaking up with the man right before it happened. He remembered the desperate words of someone in love asking to wait two whole years to try again. He remembered the handsome professor trying to express a little less compassion towards a student and failing miserably. He remembered a jealous Luca aiming a gun at him and hesitating in pulling the trigger long enough for a foolhardy Cale to shield him.

Blinking slowly, Squall saw the expression on Cale's face after it happened. The man had been concerned only so far as to assess he was okay and then the foolish islander had smiled with relief. Why hadn't he reacted first? Had he subconsciously decided Cale wasn't important enough to protect?

Seifer swallowed thickly, diffident as crystalline tears fell over long dark lashes. Leonhart was crying and it was an awing sight that left him dumbfounded. The man had cried from the pains of sex earlier that day, but there was an astonishing difference between tears of physical pain and tears of emotional pain.

Eyes opening, Squall stared through swimming tears. The lump in his throat only grew and the heavy weight in his chest only crushed his heart more. Turning on his side, he curled up dolorously and grit his teeth in an attempt not to sob aloud.

Brows knitting with growing unease, Seifer sat back and stared silently. He felt chagrinned for even thinking of having sex with the bereaved brunet in such a state. Unable to think of single consoling word to say, he backed away and stood from the bed. He couldn't be a witness to Leonhart's vulnerable state. It was just too personal.

As Seifer drew the bedroom door shut from in the hallway, he heard the first sob and frowned at the strange feeling of sadness that overcame him. Deciding to get a drink of water, he moved into the main flat, only to stop and survey the area. He wondered how soon someone would show up and draw obvious conclusions from such a scene. Though he hardly cared what anyone else thought, he didn't fancy having to walk around with bulletproof armor just to ensure Kinneas didn't snipe him from afar.

Complaining through a series of muttered insults, Seifer made quick work of sliding the rectangular area carpet back into place, righting the couch, examining the television, and forcing one of the coffee table's leg into proper alignment. Blood was easy enough to remove from areas of the carpet when the fibers resisted stains, but the walls sported dents and holes that could not be hidden. When he was finished, it was still quite obvious that something had happened. The television wouldn't turn on and he wouldn't have trusted the coffee table to stand up under the weight of a cup of tea.

Pacing back and forth in front of the balcony door, Seifer debated what he should do. He was inclined to staying the night, but was not exactly comfortable sharing a room or apartment with someone who was crying.

"You can take a shower if you want," a quiet voice called from the other side of the large room.

Turning swiftly, Seifer stared at a damp haired brunet. He frowned at the sight of his rival fresh from a shower, wearing a new pair of jeans and a grey hoodie. "Look at you," he commented sarcastically, wondering where the broken man had gone. He couldn't make sense of Leonhart's abrupt meltdowns and speedy recoveries.

A faint blush of embarrassment graced Squall's cheeks. He stood before his rival feeling uncomfortable after exposing himself so completely. "I needed to sober up," he returned noncommittally.

"You weren't drunk," Seifer refuted, choosing to take the brunet's meaning quite literal.

Squall scowled, not willing to admit he showered to stop himself from crying. As silence fell between them and he became keenly aware of jade green eyes staring at him intensely, he feigned interest in the neatened room. "You cleaned," he commented with mock surprise.

Quirking a brow, Seifer rejoined, "I have been known to clean my messes up from time to time."

Seeing no reason to keep talking, Squall strode across the room towards the kitchen.

"You should be in bed," Seifer stated matter-of-factly, moving to follow the seemingly recovered swordsman.

Squall scoffed, amused that the blond sought to give him advice. "And you shouldn't be here," he said, his prickly tone betraying his intent to pick a fight.

"As appealing as going home to look over my budget funds is, I think being here takes precedence."

Squall regarded the ex-knight with a doubtful expression.

Clearing his throat, Seifer hastily added, "By a very small margin."

Leaning back against the island counter, Squall hugged his arms and gazed at the floor. At length, he spoke his mind. "If I were a fool, I'd believe you cared. As far as I can tell, your ego can't take the fact that I didn't enjoy having sex with you." Glancing up, he stared sharply at the blond. "A good man died tonight and you're here because you want to prove yourself in the bedroom. Everyone has a little shame, Seifer. Just how little do you have?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Leonhart," Seifer countered. "You weren't such a great lay that I'm in any rush to do it again."

"But you do intend to do it again?"

"Of course." Seifer crossed his arms, unwilling to back down or hide his true intentions. Reflecting back on his words, he realized it sounded like he was in quite a hurry to sleep with the brunet again. Mockingly, he tagged on, "I've never left a woman unsatisfied."

Squall closed the distanced between them in a split second, his fist wiping the arrogant smirk off the ex-knight's face. The sound seemed to echo in the still apartment. Chest heaving as he took a deep breath, he warned, "That's a line you're not allowed to cross anymore."

"Anymore?" Seifer remarked, squaring his shoulders and rubbing his jaw sorely. Sometimes it wasn't worth pissing the former commander off.

"I'm not a woman," Squall affirmed ardently, his eyes piercing the ex-knight with cold fire.

Annoyed and spiteful, Seifer could not keep from antagonizing the brunet. "Is that how Bernhein saw it?"

Again, Squall struck the offensive blond. His stomach knotted at the taunting use of Cale in such a petty argument. "Get out," he hissed, no longer willing to tolerate the man's presence.

"No," Seifer returned simply. "If hitting me makes you feel better, go for it. You've been a sadistic little fuck all night anyway and I have more potions in my car."

"You won't leave?" Squall questioned tersely.

Seifer shook his head slowly, smirking with amusement.

Studying green eyes, Squall tried to resolve exactly what was going on in the cocky man's head. After several tense moments, he took a step back. Taking hold of his sweatshirt, he lifted it and removed it from overhead, his damp hair spiking outward as a result.

"What are you doing?" Seifer questioned in uncertainty.

"Undressing," Squall supplied evenly, making to take the t-shirt he had on underneath off as well.

Seifer reached out and stopped the brunet. "Why?" he followed, not releasing the pale swordsman's hands.

Frowning, Squall regarded the taller man with a placating look in his eyes. "To have sex," he elaborated. Pulling his hands free, he again made to take his shirt off.

"Stop," Seifer ordered, needing a moment to figure out what Leonhart truly intended.

Impassively, Squall elaborated a bit more, "You're here for sex. You'll leave once you get it."

With a disapproving expression, Seifer took a step back. He turned away, rubbing his sore jaw in disbelief. Glancing sidelong, he grumbled, "For fuck's sake Leonhart, that defeats the entire purpose."

Brows furrowed as he tried to comprehend what possible purpose there was beyond satisfying the man's exorbitantly large ego, Squall gazed with doleful eyes.

"Shit," Seifer swore as he stole a glance at pretty grey-blue eyes. The sadness within those usually vibrant orbs betrayed the underlying state the mourning swordsman was truly in. "You know, fuck you Leonhart. I should be the one insulted," he accused. Pacing away, he turned to meet those same watchful eyes before looking elsewhere.

Letting his shirt drop, Squall stood calmly in place. It was apparent they wouldn't be having sex. He was relieved and grateful, but burdened with the knowledge that he had no way of making Seifer leave. "Don't compare to a woman," he mumbled quietly.

Seifer scoffed, knowing very well such comparisons were the effeminate man's pet peeve. "Just because I topped you, it's suddenly taboo? You were pregnant for nine months. Was having my dick up your ass really more emasculating than that?"

"Just lay off," Squall snapped, stooping to snatch his sweatshirt up from the ground.

"You're absolutely right, I shouldn't compare you to a girl. It was insensitive of me to insult the entire female population. You're more difficult than any woman I've ever known."

"If you're not here for your ego, why the hell are you staying?"

Whirling around on the obliviously perceptive fighter, Seifer answered instinctively and without forethought. "Because you need someone…" He trailed off. It was a disturbing to realize his motivations weren't entirely self-serving. He didn't understand how such selflessness had happened.

Hugging his sweatshirt close, Squall waited for the blond to finish.

Giving a gruff sigh, Seifer turned away. "It's not as if I liked the guy or anything, but you did. Seeing as he just died…." Glancing back, he almost cringed at the sight of misting eyes, staring straight at him. He saw the dark circles contrasting peakishly pale skin and knew a shower could only keep such an exhausted body awake for another five minutes.

Squall felt himself coming apart again. Delayed in realizing his unbecoming state, he turned away abruptly and sniffed back welling tears. He was a thirty-four year old man and had already cried enough times in one day to last a lifetime. If he kept it up, he would have to let Seifer call him a woman because he would have the same hormonal balance as one. "Would you please just go?" he requested somewhat hoarsely, clearing his throat as casually as possible afterwards. It was hard to swallow, the same lump forming as before. He rolled his eyes, hoping to discourage his tear glands from disobeying his demands any further.

For the first time that evening, Seifer considered leaving. He had sought Leonhart out for sex, only to end up staying for reasons beyond his understanding. Bernhein's demise was rather unexpected and even he was reluctant to disrespect the deceased. He could at least wait until the professor was six feet under before moving in on the former commander.

Continuing to rub his jaw, Seifer debated his options. He could stay with an unsettlingly distressed Leonhart and be around when the cavalry arrived or he could leave and bide his time while Leonhart grieved. Sighing as he began to lean towards retreating, his attention shifted to the slender backside of his rival. It was such a vulnerable sight, open to attack.

Thinking that he could easily take the brunet right then and there, Seifer stepped closer with such thoughts in his mind. The reticent man responded to him physically, answering his heated touches even during the most inauspicious of times. There was no real need for the same passionate fire as before, not when there was still pleasure.

Reaching out, Seifer set a firm hand on the smaller swordsman's narrow shoulder. Squeezing a bony shoulder, he whirled the distressed brunet around. Gazing down into glossy eyes, his confidence crumbled.

Teeth clenched tightly, Squall's jaw muscle flexed as he continued to hold back welling emotions. He couldn't believe Seifer was seeing him such a state, but keeping up appearances was quickly becoming insignificant. He initially wanted to blame Seifer for his failed relationship with Cale, but there was absolutely no sense in pointing fingers. He had been the one to cheat on Cale and reject the man's love. Why hadn't he loved Cale?

Wanting to back away as dimming eyes seemed to request something from him, Seifer stood rooted in place to prove he wasn't afraid of facing raw emotions. He couldn't read minds, only body language. Leonhart's current body language was too foreign for him to decipher the distressed signal.

Mechanically, Squall stepped forward. Face meeting the musky scented collar of the robust man, he turned his head to the side and pressed closer. He was too tired to think and another shower was not likely to work. "Take me somewhere," he murmured softly. He didn't care where, just some place he didn't have to think and no one else would see how weak he was.

Shocked for several long moments, Seifer didn't even move his raised arm, his hand still positioned as though holding Leonhart's shoulder. Grounded back to reality, he felt his body shiver when delicate hands reached up to grasp his wrinkled dress shirt. Suddenly given the cipher code, he read the brunet's body language clearly. Leonhart wanted to be comforted, sad eyes asking for kind words and vulnerable body asking for a kind touch.

Finding such irony in the situation, Seifer almost laughed out loud. He didn't have a kind fiber in his body, yet Leonhart was clinging to him desperately, tacitly requesting his comfort.

Practically begging to be taken elsewhere, Squall raised his head and looked up into green eyes pleadingly. In the far reaches of his barely functioning mind, he knew requesting Seifer's help was dishonoring Cale's memory, but it had been the ex-knight who showed up unexpectedly in the first place.

Breath hitching, Seifer reacted to those pleading eyes before he could think twice. Arms encircling his rival's seemingly frail form, he awaited some sort of response. When the brunet simply rested back against his chest, he felt his body shiver again. He wound his arms tighter. Somehow it felt extremely good.

Swallowing thickly, Seifer spoke, "I'll take you to my place." It was the only place he could think of.

TBC…

Author's notes: It has been far too long once again, and I apologize. I had a little project that kept me from even thinking about this chapter, so much so that when I finally got back to writing it, I couldn't remember where I intended to take it. It turned out how I wanted, though I'm not sure I committed enough time to making everything as plausible as possible. I'm sorry if it felt really out of sync and out of character. I know Squall wasn't himself at all, but I do hope it was bearable. I can't say it enough, but the reviews you've all taken the time to give have been wonderful. I'm so grateful to have such awesome readers.


	29. Chapter 29

Defining Love

Chapter Twenty-Nine

In the surrounding darkness of his apartment, Seifer remained awake as he reclined against the wall at the head of his bed. Room cast in shadow, there was scarcely enough light to make dark shadows distinguishable. Every unpacked tower of boxes looked like some monster lurking in the corner, but Seifer had stopped fearing imagined monsters at the age of six and had begun fighting real monsters by the time he was fourteen.

A soft sigh came from the sleeping form curled against his side. Shifting slightly, the sound of fabric was heard distinctly in the stillness.

Arms and pillow cushioning the back of his head, Seifer gazed down at the top of tangled brown hair. "I'm not a fucking bolster," he muttered darkly. Green eyes narrowed suspiciously when the sleeping swordsman furled closer, leg twining with his own beneath the covers. Doubting whether the man was truly asleep, he was about to break away, but went rigid when the pretty boy twitched.

Jolting, Squall awoke abruptly. Eyes wide, he stared with dilated pupils into the darkness. He glanced around furtively to find the ex-knight. Blinking in quick succession, he processed the situation before hurriedly shifting back. "Sorry," he whispered, turning over and inching closer to the edge facing the window. Without a warm chest as his pillow, he lay flat and used a bent arm to cradle his head.

Seifer stared for several moments at Leonhart's backside. His eyes gazed low to a narrow waist revealed where the blanket drooped and thin white t-shirt rode up. Traveling up a slender frame, he ended his greedy study by staring at the nape of an exposed neck. Closing the distance between them, he let his arms slide around and pull the smaller man against his chest. "It's a narrow bed," he said in a husky voice, his lips ghosting the brunet's ear.

Shivering, Squall squirmed about until he was facing Seifer. Cheeks tinged scarlet as his actions became less mechanical and more the result of a focused mind, he glanced at the placating blond. "Is this something you'll hold over my head for the rest of my life?" he questioned quietly.

Rolling his eyes, Seifer informed, "I'll forget you acted like a chicken-wuss if you forget I let you sleep in my bed without having sex first."

Nodding hesitantly, Squall rested his head back against his childhood rival's solid chest. "You're still a bastard," he informed, tugging at the blanket until it covered his shoulders.

Chuckling, Seifer returned, "And you're still a fairy." He jumped at the feel of delicate fingers pinching the flesh of his inner thigh. When the brunet made no further move to hurt him, he smirked. As long as he was still a bastard in the view of pretty stormy blue eyes, then he could deal with being an understanding bastard for a single night.

--

Shaken awake, Squall's brain was slow to interpret what was going on. Delayed in responding to the ex-knight, he eventually stirred and opened his eyes groggily.

Mumbling in a tired tone, a loud whisper that tried to convey a somewhat intelligent message while still half asleep, Seifer instructed his bedmate to move. "Leonhart… you gotta move."

"Nnh," Squall replied, eyes closing as his mind judged the situation to be unimportant despite lacking all details.

"My arm's asleep… get to my other side…" Seifer elaborated breathily, not entirely certain a numb arm was worth waking up for.

Groaning in complaint, Squall lethargically complied. Even in the deepest reaches of his mind, he knew he was imposing. Clambering over the ex-knight's form, he crawled to the man's left side before collapsing back to bed.

"Smooth," Seifer muttered sarcastically, apparently able to throw insults even in his sleep.

Squall didn't respond. Settling back in, he felt the blond's strong arm encircle his shoulders and pull him in close. If he were any less tired, he would have pointed out the man's numb arm was due to holding him constantly. Instead, he lay in a position mirroring his previous one, the sound of a beating heart almost audible when his head pressed against the left side of the arrogant ex-knight's muscular chest.

On the verge of falling back to sleep, wakefulness was instilled into Squall's mind suddenly. Eyes widening, he stared guiltily with the realization that the last person to hold him in bed had been Cale. He was surprised at how similar it felt. The warmth between two bodies was the same. The knowledge that he wasn't alone beneath the covers was both comforting and at the same time kept him from relaxing completely. He hadn't slept very well the night Cale had held him. He wasn't used to sleeping with someone else, not someone larger than him anyway. Every toss and turn reminded him he wasn't alone and the feel of embracing arms was restricting.

"Go to sleep," Seifer ordered. Moving his hand from its resting place on a jutting shoulder, he ran it over Leonhart's face and forced wakeful eyes to close. His fingertips trailed briefly over pout lips before he returned his hand to its perch.

Eyes closed, Squall bowed his head and tried to forget. It was impossible though. With his eyes closed, it might as well have been Cale holding him. It felt the same.

Sighing a quiet simper, Squall furled closer. Brows drawn contritely, he indulged a horrible whim. He let himself imagine Seifer was Cale. He let himself listen to each breath the ex-knight took, comparing it to the sound of Cale's breaths the night they had spent together. Deciding the sound was the same, he drifted quietly while imagining he was in Cale's arms. He had hurt the professor and rejected the man unfairly. Now, in death, he was trying to hang on pointlessly.

Believing himself to be a horrible person, Squall clutched Seifer's shirt as his eyes clenched shut. It was too little, too late. He wished he could have loved Cale. He wished so many things had turned out differently. Why had he gone to the islander's apartment in the first place? He should have gone to Irvine. Why hadn't he reacted first? He had seen the gun plain as day. He was trained to react swiftly, but he had hesitated, not believing Luca to be deranged enough to use it.

Biting his lip harshly, Squall forced himself not to cry. It was difficult when he remembered that Cale hadn't taken any chances and hadn't hesitated. The entire night had been full of missed chances. He could have easily prevented the professor's death. Had he not been satisfied enough to cheat on the kind man and break up? He had carried on blithely, leading the unsuspecting islander to an untimely end.

How many years ago had he stopped junctioning a guardian force while out of the field? Magic would have saved Cale. When had he stopped carrying potions on his person? A single potion would have healed Cale enough to buy time.

"Don't get my shirt wet," Seifer chastised.

Squall withdrew from his thoughts, the ex-knight's baritone voice cutting through and pulling him back. Sniffing quietly, he wiped at moist eyes and tried to clear his mind.

--

The clattering sound of a frying pan woke Squall up. Sleepy eyes shied from the light streaming in through the window he faced. The shade had been opened and he knew exactly who had opened it. Turning over, he burrowed deeper under the blanket and pulled the single pillow closer. It was several moments before he realized he was alone in bed.

Listening attentively while his eyes rested, Squall heard what sounded like someone busy in the kitchen. Curious for a moment, he took a deep breath and smelled grilled fish. Rather disturbed by the thought of Seifer making breakfast, he chose to stay put and not confirm the situation visually.

"Guess again, Kinneas," Seifer's rich voice spoke in a mocking Galbadian drawl.

Squall could hear the bullying blond. The kitchen was more of a kitchenette with its three walls and the sound carried clearly. Confused, he sat up and rubbed his eyes. He half expected to see Irvine standing nearby, but the studio apartment was empty, save for the Seifer in the sectored kitchen area.

Seifer peeked his head out and glanced at a very dazed brunet. Phone to his ear, he smirked when stormy blue eyes looked his way. "He's right here," he said tauntingly. "But I don't think he wants to talk right now."

Upon realizing Seifer was on the phone with Irvine, Squall frowned. Before he could demand to have the phone, the blond disappeared back into the kitchen. Head pounding, he rubbed his temples and tried to recall the previous night.

"You can try that, but any idiot knows how to disable the GPS chip in a cell phone," Seifer carried on.

As the events of the previous night came to him, Squall listened impassively to the one sided conversation. He was in no rush to talk to anyone. In fact, he was quite dreading it. Even though Seifer was being an ass, he couldn't bring himself to do anything about it.

Drawing the blanket close, Squall hugged his knees and debated his next move. Lying back down and sleeping was appealing, but the amount of sunlight coming in from the window suggested he had already slept in quite a bit.

"I'll stop jerking you around when you stop giving me such amusing reactions." Seifer leaned against the kitchen's entryway wall. He wore a pair of slate grey slacks and sharp crimson dress shirt. Not entirely sure if he would be working that day, he was still showered and dressed for whatever he might end up doing. One arm crossed over his torso while the other held the phone up, he gazed towards the wallowing swordsman in his bed. "He's alive if that's what you're calling to confirm," he said smarmily.

Torn between speaking with Irvine to calm the worried gunman down and remaining isolated with his thoughts, Squall rested his head against his knees while looking sideways at the belligerent ex-knight. The man was incorrigible.

Seifer smirked while staring into grey-blue eyes from across the room. "Slow down cowboy, I can't get a word in edgewise. Do you kiss Matron with that mouth?" Blood stirring, he began to feel aroused as Leonhart attentively watched him. He wanted to fuck the brunet hard, until that innocent expression disappeared forever. It was an attractive look, but every time he saw the man staring at him with such obliviousness, the urge to subjugate and spoil rose to a level he had trouble controlling. Missing what the gunman said, he had to refocus on what he was doing. "Let me ask him if he'll talk to you," he interrupted.

Uncertain for a moment, Squall eventually shook his head subtly when the ex-knight held the phone out with a questioning expression.

Shrugging, Seifer moved back into the kitchen, where Leonhart's beckoning eyes and fuck-me-now pheromones couldn't reach him. "He doesn't want to talk to you. If it's any consolation, it probably has something to do with being tied to my bed with a dildo up his ass."

Wide eyed, Squall thought he heard the sound of a gun firing over the line of the phone. When he heard Seifer laughing, he feared he had indeed heard Irvine shooting.

Laughing hard, Seifer clutched his stomach. "Hyne, you're better than Dincht," he commented when his amusement subsided long enough to allow him to speak. He sobered quickly when the pale brunet stepped into the kitchen wearing naught but a flimsy white t-shirt and black boxer briefs.

Squall held his hand out for the phone. Unable to ignore the distress his friend must have been under because of his actions, he stood impatiently before the ex-knight. Once the blond reluctantly handed him the phone, he frowned upon examining the device. He recognized it as his own.

Eyes trained on his rival's pert ass, Seifer stared lewdly as the brunet walked away. Taking a deep breath, he tried to clear his lustful mind but only found his pants tightening.

"Irvine," Squall spoke quietly once he was out of sight.

"Hyne, is that you Squall?" Irvine's worried voice questioned desperately.

Scouring the floor for his pants, Squall eventually found what he was looking for. "Yeah, it's me," he replied with an air of indifference. Bending to pick his pants up, he nearly yelped at as a hand gruffly groped his buttocks. Straightening and whirling around, he glared at the offending blond.

"Are you okay? Where are you?" Irvine asked in quick succession. His distress was obvious.

Frowning, Squall tried not to take his attention off of the ex-knight while answering. He backed up to the bed when the tall swordsman crowded his personal space. "I'm fine," he answered. Stumbling back onto the bed, he held an arm out and gestured for Seifer to stay away. "I'll return home soon."

"What happened? You fell off the grid yesterday. Laguna got a call that you were a witness to some murder-suicide. We couldn't get a hold of you and then we find the apartment looking like you'd been kidnapped. What the hell is going on?"

"I'll explain later," Squall supplied succinctly. "Tell Lore I'm sorry for making him worry. I have to go." Hanging up abruptly, he evaded the pouncing ex-knight. "Stop it," he ordered, whirling around when a shameless hand snagged his briefs and tried to pull him back.

"You're a tease, Leonhart," Seifer accused. "I go all night without laying a finger on you and then you prance around like this. Give me something here."

"…" Squall glared. The ex-knight's arousal was not his problem. If the man needed release, there was a bathroom with a door.

Smirking, Seifer successfully brought his prey down onto the bed. Swiftly topping the scantily clad fighter, he looked intently into mesmerizing steely eyes. "It's no use fighting," he reminded. Dipping low, he possessed inviting lips, kissing them fiercely.

Warring with conflicting emotions, Squall refused the insistent blond. Head turning to the side, he murmured, "It's too soon." Not knowing if there would ever be a time where he could completely accept his childhood rival's sexual advances, it was still clear for his socially stunted mind to understand the day after losing a semi ex-boyfriend was too soon to sleep with someone else.

Groaning in complaint, Seifer leaned back and commented, "It's been ten hours. There are only five stages of grief. How much longer could you possibly need before you let me fuck you senseless?"

Shivering at the ex-knight's words despite himself, Squall scowled at such insensitive reasoning. "I'll have sex with you right now if it means you'll stop asking for it."

Brows furrowed angrily, Seifer gazed down at the enticing man beneath him. "And here I thought there was no reversing a hard on," he spat cynically as he clambered off the passively resistant brunet. Nothing ruined a passionate moment like pointing out that the act was entirely functional and done as some favor. He was nobody's charity case. If he could find the right opportunity, he would loosen Leonhart's tight ass and make the man addicted to it. "When I do screw you again, you'll be begging for more."

"…" Squall gave the ex-knight a dubious look. He didn't see how sex between men was anything to become excited over. Fingers were fine and the experience of penetration was not without its pleasures, but when it came to having an entire cock shoved up his ass, he would sooner suffer electro shock torture.

Sighing heavily, Seifer straightened up. Making some minor adjustments to his crisp shirt, he strode smoothly back towards the kitchen. "I assume you're going to the police station?" he said, easily segueing to a wholly unrelated matter.

Sitting on the edge of the bed as he reached down to retrieve his jeans, Squall frowned. "Why?" he inquired, not certain what he was missing.

"To give your statement," Seifer returned informatively. Shuffling around in the kitchen, he plated his breakfast. He had made enough for two people, but wasn't about to directly offer anything. Making Leonhart breakfast would be bordering on an act of kindness, so he considered his actions to be wasteful cooking.

Slipping into his pants, Squall again questioned from the other room, "Why?" If memory served him correctly, he had already given his statement.

Setting his plate down on the counter with a clatter, Seifer opened the silverware drawer and procured himself a fork for his seared salmon. "A verbal statement, Leonhart," he clarified condescendingly. "Writing shit down is what you do when you confess to a crime, not witness one."

"They ask for both actually," Squall corrected as he entered the kitchen. Crossing his arms, he stood out of the way. It was a small area with barely enough room for the broad framed ex-knight to sit on a stool and eat at the counter.

Nodding as his point was made for him, Seifer sampled his food. "That cop wanted you down there before noon. You probably don't remember. By that time, you were clinging to me like a baby."

Cheeks heating in response, Squall didn't say anything.

Chuckling, Seifer basked in the glow of having something truly embarrassing to hold over the brunet's head. At length, he glanced sidelong at a flustered swordsman. "Relax, I won't mention it in mixed company." Leonhart's embarrassing tale consequently fed into his own sappy behavior and he didn't need anyone asking why he had succumbed to the evils of pity and sympathy.

Squall scoffed, his disbelief quite evident. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he tried to fathom the logical order of events that had led to his seeking sanctuary with the ex-knight. If it hadn't actually happened, he wouldn't have believed any of it.

Eyes sharpening, Seifer forced himself to look away. He felt compelled to assure Leonhart he would remain discreet. He had no idea from where such kindhearted urges sprung. They either came in groups or multiplied. Controlling his words and actions very carefully was the only solution until whatever pity he had for the man disappeared. Losing a loved one was an understandably trying ordeal, but he wondered at the heartache the supposedly emotionless ice prince displayed. Just how hung up was Leonhart over Bernhein? Was the white haired islander really worth crying over?

Grip tightening on his fork, Seifer contended with the notion that Leonhart was almost too dolorous over Bernhein. It suddenly seemed very unlikely that they had broken up. "Who was he to you?" he found himself asking before he could think twice.

Stirred from his thoughts, Squall concluded that analyzing his actions last night was pointless when his emotions were still so mixed up. His collected demeanor was fragile and inside he was filled with uncertainty and instability. In another five minutes he could be curled up in the blond's bed crying again. Delayed in responding, he eventually gazed into piercing green eyes. With a frown he murmured, "Cale?"

"Who else?" Seifer clipped tersely. "Why were you even at his place last night? I thought you were breaking up."

Jaw clenching, Squall appeared very reluctant to discuss Cale. His heart ached when he spoke the professor's name and his emotions became a dark storm when his mind recalled the man's handsome face.

Seifer knew he was treading on thin ice, the brittle mask his rival had in place fracturing after a single mentioning of the dead gay man. Steely blue eyes became subdued, dulling to a vacant and lackluster color of a cloudy sky. Though he knew the epicene fighter was hurting inside, his pity was banished by a powerful feeling of jealousy. Bernhein was dead, yet still occupying Leonhart's mind. He was in the same room as the Leonhart, yet didn't seem to exist at all.

Before Seifer could consider giving the grieving swordsman a break, he was on his feet and closing the distance between them. Roughly grabbing narrow shoulders, he physically shook the forlorn expression from Leonhart's face. "Stop it!" he barked testily.

Brows knitted in confusion, Squall gazed into frighteningly intense jade-green eyes. Blinking, he silently asked the blond what it was he should be stopping and why such brute force was necessary.

"Do you see me standing right here?" Seifer demanded, fingers digging into bony shoulders, the thin t-shirt serving as a negligible barrier between their skin. "If that fucker didn't have the common sense to duck and cover, then he doesn't deserve the time of day from you."

Mouth agape, Squall was too horrified to even strike the blond for his words. "He…" he began to say dumbfounded. "He protected me." Cale had plenty of common sense and no military training, yet the man had gone against instinct.

Though his hold tightened, Seifer questioned in a contradicting tone of calmness, "What?"

Squall searched Seifer's heated eyes for some sense of understanding or perhaps wisdom into what he still couldn't comprehend. "By the time it happened…" he couldn't bring himself to make excuses, it was too bitter a taste on his tongue. "I didn't react," he admitted numbly, adding further, "He crossed the line of fire. I was the target."

Gaze sharpening, Seifer carefully studied grey-blue eyes. His mind reading abilities had not improved, yet he still couldn't help but try. Had Bernhein truly protected Leonhart? Despite the islander's formidable appearance, he hadn't considered the bow-tie wearing bookworm the type of person to react with any sense of selflessness when faced with mortal danger. It just wasn't feasible. He had witnessed the cowardice of civilians time and again, and had been forced to conclude that cowardice was often the same as human instinct. Self-preservation was number one in everyone's mind.

"Why did he do it?" Squall murmured at length, the question posed to no one in particular. He became detached and immersed deeper in his thoughts. The answer was both obvious and confounding. He did not doubt that Cale had loved him, for only a man in love could possibly desire to wait two years to forge a relationship that held no promise of equal requital.

Calming, Seifer took a step back abruptly. He released the brunet, his arms falling to his side in a show of concession. He grappled with the concept of Bernhein's supposed sacrifice, not quite able to picture it or even believe it. If such were truly the case, then Leonhart's bereaved behavior was set into perspective. Guilt was no doubt more painful than the loss itself, and the two together seemed to have driven a stake through the pale swordsman's heart.

Seifer turned away, bottling up his bitter jealousy and storing it away to be expressed at a more fitting time. Rubbing his jaw, he plopped back down on the stool and forced himself to begin eating. Unable to even taste his food while in such a foul mood, his skill at cooking fish was wasted on that morning's breakfast.

Staring distantly for several lost moments, Squall eventually strode from the kitchen somberly.

"Shit," Seifer cursed quietly, his fork clattering against the plate as he let it drop. He wasn't unused to such mood swings from the former commander, but the situation was undoubtedly trickier than usual. It hadn't been his intention to pour salt in Leonhart's wounds.

Sighing, Seifer forced himself not to go after the brunet. He was beginning to question what he was after in the first place, which shouldn't have been anything more than the opportunity to prove himself in bed. He would not allow his intentions to become unclear.

In Seifer's bathroom, Squall finished washing his face. With a final splash of cold water, he braced his arms on either side of the white pedestal sink and gazed at his reflection in the mirror. Rivulets of water dripped down his face, his lengthy bangs were somewhat damp after his haphazard splashing.

Usually finding no point of interest in his own appearance, Squall almost reared back at the sight he presented. Skin paler than usual, his eyes were reddened with dark bags beneath. He was indeed a sight for sore eyes.

With a soft groan, Squall hung his head while reaching out for the nearest towel. Hardly caring if it were even clean, he buried his face in it and rubbed the coarse material against his skin furiously. Taking a sharp breath when he was quite done, he cast the towel aside carelessly and ran his fingers through his hair. The attempt to neaten wayward strands was futile. He had gone to bed with damp hair and the morning result was an unmanageable mess.

Digging his cell phone out of his pants pocket, he checked the time. It was already ten o'clock. If he had any chance at being prompt, he would need to leave for the police station soon.

The mere thought of recounting the events of the previous night caused a knot to form in Squall's stomach. He wondered if the ex-knight planned on accompanying him. Though he would never admit it, the prospect of having the blond at his side was a bit relieving.

In the kitchen, Seifer managed to finish his breakfast. When Leonhart returned, he surreptitiously muttered, "I'm less hungry than I thought. Help yourself to what's left over."

Nodding with vague understanding, Squall remained rooted in place near the open entryway. He wasn't hungry, though he distantly registered the offering and appreciated it. Fighting the urge to fidget, he questioned in an almost meek voice, "Are you coming too?"

"That was the agreement," Seifer replied casually, discarding his plate in the sink. Gesturing to another plate he had set out, complete with eating utensil, he pressed, "Go for it. Cooked salmon doesn't refrigerate well."

Mouth open to inform the ex-knight of his lack of appetite, Squall stopped himself short. Belatedly realizing the food was hardly leftover, he strode forward so as not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Whether or not he actually ate didn't matter. Simply accepting the offer was the least he could do under the circumstances.

Rummaging in his fridge, Seifer handed off a chilled bottle of water. Satisfied that his good deed had been done under the radar, he took a bottle for himself before leaving the room. His watch informed him that there was plenty of time before noon and he fancied showing up fifteen minutes late just to piss that lieutenant guy off.

Squall sat and stared at the food Seifer had made. It was strange. Poking the fish with his fork, he appeared torn between eating it and examining it for poison. Glancing at the vacant entryway, he wondered what the ex-knight meant by making him breakfast.

Sighing, Squall unscrewed the cap on the water bottle he had been given. Taking a sip, he quickly realized just how thirsty he was.

"Pace yourself," Seifer muttered as he passed the kitchen's entrance, catching a glimpse of an apparently dehydrated brunet.

Having downed half of the sixteen ounce bottle, Squall was finally satisfied. "We should leave," he stated matter-of-factly.

Scoffing from out of sight, Seifer ambled into the kitchen while leafing through a packet of papers. "You're never in any rush to talk about anything. Somehow I doubt you care about showing up on time to talk about last night."

Lips brushing the rim of the bottle, Squall shot the ex-knight a warning glare.

Distracted for a moment, Seifer's eyes were trained on pout lips that glistened from recently consumed water. His lapse was brief. Quickly forcing himself to look away, he feigned interest in the papers he held, though he could no longer remember what he had been doing with the stack of shipping orders. "Fine, we'll leave soon," he conceded distractedly, his eyes straying again. He was just in time to watch Leonhart lift the bottle and take a sip, the swallowing action drawing attention to a slender throat. A tantalizing pink tongue darted out to lick bowed lips, causing him to swallow reflexively for an entirely different reason than the brunet had.

Staring off, Squall seemed bemused in his own little world. After several moments, when a familiar heat crept up on him and he became acutely aware of jade-green eyes boring holes in his clothing, he regarded the blond. Nodding subtly, he acknowledged that they were in agreement on leaving shortly.

Stopping himself short before he began to envision taking Leonhart on the countertop, or perhaps actually doing so, Seifer returned the nod and turned away. "Finish eating, we'll leave after," he instructed, leaving the kitchen yet again and establishing a mental barrier that made the area strictly off limits.

--

Lieutenant Garber's office did not encourage any private interactions. The surrounding walls were clear panes of reinforced glass with vertical blinds spaced intermittently so that when drawn the entire room could be shielded. Squall sat diminutively in his seat in front of the lieutenant's desk. Slightly on edge, it was a conscious effort to sit still. Beside him, Seifer sat casually, appearing entirely at home in a twin chair.

"Where is that prick?" Seifer grumbled in annoyance, glancing around to the office door for the fifth time in two minutes.

"…" Squall checked the wall clock, briefly wondering how it was held up. It was a little after eleven o'clock. He wouldn't have been surprised if the lieutenant were under the impression that he wasn't going to show up. Judging from the sound of the phones constantly ringing in the background, it was a busy Thursday morning in Esthar's twenty-fourth precinct.

Squall occupied himself with studying the lieutenant's desk. It was almost too average for any normal person. It wasn't disorderly or ensconced with files, but neither was it meticulously organized. He concluded that the lack of any case files meant there was a conscious effort to keep the important stuff from prying eyes. There was a name plaque that read 'Lieutenant Silas Garber', the lettering rather plain in its Helvetica font. His brief analysis was only a minor distraction and a force of habit.

The near silent swoosh of the clear door announced the lieutenant's arrival. In plainclothes once again, the senior detective walked evenly into the room as he unbuttoned his dark grey suit jacket, his badge and gun revealed as a result. "Mr. Leonhart," the thirty-something year old man greeted.

Standing smoothly, Squall turned and met the officer's extended hand. He gave a single nod in greeting, but when the man didn't release his hand and proceeded to stare at him, he was forced to acknowledge the sandy-blond detective with all his attention.

Sharp green eyes held suspicion and distrust as they pinned the lieutenant with a piercing glare. Seifer brashly extended his own hand, interrupting whatever silent exchange passed between the other two. He became quite annoyed when the slightly shorter man shook his hand and released it just as quickly.

"Mr. Almasy," the lieutenant greeted formally as he moved around his desk. "I am surprised to see you accompanying Mr. Leonhart today."

Bristling indignantly, Seifer straightened and stood to his full height. "It seemed appropriate," he said cryptically, trying to figure out what the man's game was.

Brows rising in slight surprise, Lieutenant Garber turned his attention to the silent brunet. "Still playing the mute?" he questioned bluntly.

Showing no outward reaction, Squall's face remained impassive. Unflinchingly, he met the lieutenant's eyes. He had nothing to hide. He didn't play games and he most certainly didn't care if anyone disapproved of him.

Inhaling sharply, Garber rubbed his jaw and openly studied the fair skinned brunet who had very clear grey-blue eyes. It was difficult to believe Mr. Leonhart had ever seen battle with such eyes. They were too clear, almost innocent. He didn't like it, not when he found it difficult to scrutinize the man objectively. The obvious signs of continued distress made it near impossible to remain apathetic. He suspected Mr. Leonhart had been crying, which was unexpected considering the persona he had previously associated with the mercenary.

"Please, sit down," Garber offered hospitably after a few moments.

Taking his seat, Squall glanced to the ex-knight when the tall blond didn't sit down. "Seifer?" he questioned quietly.

"So you do speak," the lieutenant commented, unable to keep from smirking at the first sound of Mr. Leonhart's voice. He didn't know what he had expected the former commander to sound like, but it was surprisingly soft and dulcet. It fit the man's image perfectly.

"How about skipping the formalities," Seifer suggested, finally sitting back down when Leonhart reached out and touched his wrist. He sat forward on the edge of the hard wooden seat, making no effort to hide his dislike for the pretentious prick behind the desk.

Squall regarded the ex-knight with a scowl. The blond's hostile tone was blatantly detectible.

Studying Mr. Almasy in turn, Garber was intrigued by the relationship between two men he had believed to mix together like water and oil with the side effects of mixing nitroglycerin. Striking green eyes were menacing and intimidating. Ultimecia's knight had a powerful physique that was threatening all on its own.

Gesturing for the former knight to wait, Garber opened a side drawer on his desk and pulled out a case file and two other manila folders containing as much information as he could gather on both Squall Leonhart and Seifer Almasy. Setting them down on his desk, he opened the first of the three folders and let his eyes scan the first page briefly before regarding both men in front of his desk.

Squall waited apprehensively. He had the distinct impression that Lieutenant Garber wanted more than his witnessing account of Cale's death. The circumstances weren't exactly suspicious, so he didn't quite understand what more to it there was.

The lieutenant stared pointedly at the pale brunet. "To be honest, a case like this normally wouldn't have come to my attention. But you're the president's son, so here we are."

Eyes scanning the modest desk, Squall eventually met the officer's sharp brown-eyed gaze evenly. "Are you going to ask questions or would you like me to reiterate everything I already put on paper?" he queried.

"I am sorry if this seems crass, but there are still some questions I would like to ask."

Squall nodded and waited patiently while the lieutenant poured over the open file before starting.

"Your account of what happened was quite thorough. It was, however, lacking the finer details regarding the nature of your relationship with the deceased and why you were at the scene in the first place."

Silence fell upon the three men and all eyes were on Squall.

Squall fought a wave of nausea. He took a deep breath, trying to relax. He knew he would have to concentrate extremely hard just to make it through each question. With resting arms on either armrest of his chair, he slowly uncurled the fingers of his right hand and drummed gently. Repeating this action several times, his mind was forced to focus in order to keep a steady rhythm. The technique was meant to show defiance when keeping silence during interrogations, but he had always found it helpful in staying grounded.

"Mr. Leonhart?" Garber prompted.

Biting his lip as he gathered the right words, Squall looked up and met the lieutenant's knowing gaze. "We were involved," he finally said in response. "Cale was my boyfriend," he added candidly, all the while drumming his fingers slowly.

Tapping his pen atop the open file, Garber commented, "I see." He had suspected as much, but could hardly go on assumptions when the president's son was involved.

Wanting to say a few words, Seifer settled on bottling his anger up with his jealousy. When the time was right, he would release it. He wanted to know whether or not Leonhart had broken up with Bernhein. He didn't know why it mattered, but it did.

"Mr. Leonhart," the lieutenant began, pausing to debate whether to redirect his line of questioning.

Rubbing his temple as the headache he had been able to ignore suddenly demanded his attention by hammering more intensely, Squall gave a terse correction that he normally would have left alone, "It's Squall."

"Squall then," the lieutenant corrected.

Seifer shot his dark haired counterpart a withering glare. "It's Mr. Leonhart," he re-corrected.

Frowning with a look of uncertainty, Garber just shook his head. "You were at Mr. Bernhein's apartment when Mr. Miner showed up. What motivated Mr. Miner to retrieve a gun and attempt to shoot you?"

Wondering if he were missing something, Squall glanced to Seifer. At length, he reiterated, "I was involved with Cale."

"And?" the lieutenant prompted.

Uncomfortable, Squall ceased his drumming on the armrest and crossed his arms tightly. "And, Luca disapproved of me."

"Why?"

Squall was under the impression that he had made himself quite clear already. "Lieutenant Garber-"

The lieutenant cut in, "Silas, please."

Brows knitting, Squall hesitated in using the man's first name but figured it was only fair. "Si-" he stopped himself short, catching sight of a rather angry ex-knight. Clearing his throat, he proceeded without directing his words to anyone specifically. "I don't like to make assumptions."

Leaning forward in his cushioned seat, Garber set his pen down and folded his hands diplomatically. "You say that, but you expressed concerns to Mr. Bernhein that Mr. Miner wasn't right in the head."

"Those weren't my words," Squall refuted. "Luca seemed unstable and obsessed, a combination that is generally a red flag. He was a college student with a crush on his professor, and it seemed harmless up until yesterday evening. I had no proof, but I didn't need proof to ask Cale to be careful when dealing with him." He took several quick breaths after speaking. If he kept going, his jaw muscles and tongue were going to protest further expenditure.

"He was stalking you?" the lieutenant pressed, his tone becoming sterner with each question.

"Again," Squall bit out tersely, "I have no proof that such was the case."

"Yet it's in your statement from last night."

It was almost amusing to Squall how the lieutenant pressed him to speak as though he would accidentally let something slip. It was in his laconic nature to consider his words before speaking, even when his emotions ran high and he became rash. "I believe such assumptions were clearly labeled as assumptions based on nothing but my own suspicions. I'm not daft, _Lieutenant Garber. _Luca was the obvious candidate. I'm also not without enemies. Luca never registered very high on any of my lists until last night."

Nodding in agreement, the lieutenant commented, "Yes, I suppose he proved quite a threat last night."

Squall's hand shot out to grip the ex-knight's forearm. He knew the man was about to speak up and he didn't need or want anyone defending him.

Seifer closed his mouth, glancing sidelong with unmasked surprise. He had been on the verge of calling the lieutenant a few unseemly words. He had reacted without consideration and wondered how the brunet could have possibly known his intentions so quickly.

Retracting his hand, Squall darted a quick look that held obvious disapproval. He had received a lifetime of chivalry from his rival and could not stand anymore. Though he appreciated the unexpected support and safe haven, he could handle speaking with the straightforward lieutenant on his own. In fact, it was easier to suppress his contrite feelings when encountering such subtle antagonism.

"Could you describe your relationship with Mr. Bernhein?" Garber requested.

"…" Crossing his arms again, Squall appeared perplexed.

The lieutenant clarified what he desired to know. "Had you been together very long? Were you still on good terms?"

"Not long," Squall replied, forcing a note of indifference into his tone. "Last night…" he began, trailing off as his mind replayed it all again. Swallowing thickly, he tried again, "Last night, we… or rather I…"

Eyes narrowed suspiciously, Seifer eyed the man with the badge carefully. He spoke up, "That's circumstantial and hardly relevant."

"The relevance of my questions is not for you to decide, Mr. Almasy," the lieutenant returned.

Smirking snidely, Seifer leaned forward in his seat. "Is there doubt surrounding Bernhein's death?" he inquired smoothly, holding the detective's gaze.

Bristling slightly, Lieutenant Garber admitted under intense observation, "No. There is no question how Mr. Bernhein died or who killed him. There are, however, concerns as to why Mr. Leonhart was there."

"Concerns?" Squall intoned quietly.

"Political bullshit," Seifer clipped. "That's why your on this case, isn't that right?"

Clearing his throat, Lieutenant Garber straightened up. Disliking the ex-knight immensely, he reminded himself that responding in kind was not an option. Eyes trained on the thoughtful brunet, he explained, "It is not my intention to drag anyone through the mud. I need your answers to know how to respond when I'm asked these same questions."

Biting his lip, Squall contended with the possibility of Cale's death being largely publicized because he was Laguna's son. "How certain are you that this will be a headline?" he questioned solemnly.

Lieutenant Garber almost flinched back from the pale mercenary's pleading eyes. It was hardly within his power to control the press, but he suddenly wished it were. Clearing his throat uncomfortably, he commented, "I take it you haven't turned the news on today."

Filled with trepidation, Squall simply stared. It was already in the news? What were they saying?

--

"This is where we part ways, princess," Seifer stated after coming to a stop in front of Leonhart's apartment. He was in no rush to receive Kinneas' retribution for his earlier antics. Though he could still kick the gunman's ass, he expected to be gunned down and bullets were not easily dodged.

Nodding complacently without even retaliating for the insulting nickname, Squall stared out the passenger side window at his apartment building. He didn't trust his composure to hold up in front of others, but he had procrastinated the inevitable long enough. Reaching around his seat, he snagged his grey hoodie from the back of the car before attempting to leave. His hand hesitated in opening the door.

Sighing, Seifer cut the engine. "A few minutes then," he muttered, offering the brunet an extension.

Glancing at the ex-knight beside him, Squall gave a faint nod of thanks. Taking several measured breaths, he steeled his nerves. He knew that upon being assaulted with questions regarding last night, there would be a strong desire to break down.

"Let me see your phone," Seifer demanded, hand extended as though expecting his rival to instantly produce the device.

Gazing questioningly at the blond, Squall waited for some explanation.

Rolling his eyes, Seifer said, "For Hyne's sake Leonhart, do you want my hand down your pants?"

Sending a withering glare, Squall leaned to the side and fished his cell phone out of his pants pocket. Phone in hand, he looked back at the bossy man. With obvious reluctance, he slowly handed the device over.

Grumbling a few unintelligible remarks under his breath, Seifer flipped the brunet's phone open. Making a show of his actions, he sent the pale swordsman a chastising look before angling the phone away and clicking away at the buttons secretively. When he was finished, he tossed the phone over for the uninterested fighter to catch.

Staring at his phone uncertainly, Squall then looked to Seifer as though asking if it would explode the next time he tried to use it.

Straightening up, Seifer glanced away. "My number's in there," he informed, staring pointedly forward and not making eye contact.

"…" Squall didn't know what to say. He didn't know if he appreciated the indirect assurance that he had someone to call.

Seifer rubbed the back of his neck, already beginning to regret his actions. Clearing his throat, he muttered, "It's not like I'm offering you anything."

"Hmn," Squall intoned indifferently, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

"Look, last night never happened," Seifer bit out in agitation. "If you're horny, call me. If you need to cry, lock yourself up in the bathroom."

A small smile flitted across Squall's face. "Thank you," he murmured quietly, concluding that he did indeed appreciate the ill-disguised kind gesture.

"For what?" Seifer groused, feigning ignorance for a night they would both forget or at least pretend never happened.

Squall looked over and stared into jade-green eyes. "For nothing," he said with a wry smirk and false confidence.

Wanting to look away, Seifer couldn't take his attention off Leonhart. The fighter's brittle mask could not hide the pain in grey-blue eyes. Those eyes still gave him the distinct feeling that the brunet wanted him to do something, as though pleading for him to make it better. Unable to do anything more than he already had, he was annoyed by the strange sadness that lurked somewhere inside of him.

Breaking eye contact first, Squall turned away and reached for the handle to open the door.

"Wait," Seifer called out.

Stilling abruptly, Squall started to look back. Without warning, a strong hand cupped the back of his neck and directed him closer. Fervent lips suddenly crushed his own. He was both startled and lost. Whether he opened his mouth willingly or an insistent ex-knight made a forced entry, a slick tongue was soon twined with his own.

Seifer sought to taste his rival one last time before they parted ways. He suspected they wouldn't be seeing each other for quite awhile, most likely not until after Bernhein's funeral. He did not delude himself into believing the brunet needed him. The comfort he had given had been a necessity of the moment and he firmly believed his number in the man's cell phone would not be utilized, though he couldn't deny he harbored the faint hope of receiving a call.

Swept away, Squall's mind became blissfully blank. Responding ardently, he kissed Seifer back hard. One hand reached out to grasp the arrogant man's shirt to gain better leverage as he drew closer. His other hand sought silky blond hair, relishing the soft feel while disturbing the well-groomed placement of each golden strand.

Groaning encouragingly, Seifer wound an arm around his rival's lithe torso and nearly pulled the man into his lap. Tongue battling in a rhythmic dance of passionate delight, he began to regret his initiating the kiss when his disposition did not allow for any final fulfillment. His regret did not last very long.

Carrying on for some time, it was a wonder either man was still fully clothed when they both so obviously wanted to become completely lost in the sensation. Simply tasting each other, neither man broke away for very long and only to catch a few quick panting breaths. Muffled groans filled the car and the air became heavy with lust.

Maneuvered into the ex-knight's lap, Squall straddled muscular thighs awkwardly in the confined space of the driver side seat. Hands cupping either side of the roguishly handsome swordsman's face, he sucked on the tongue that refused to finish exploring his mouth.

Seifer's hands gruffly kneaded the shapely flesh of the former commander's ass. If there were any justice in the world, then Hyne would see fit to banish all thoughts of Bernhein from Leonhart's mind for the next twenty minutes while he ravaged the man's body. Odiously, he longed to be buried inside his rival in the same manner as before. As painful as the experience might have been for his partner, his pleasure from it had been conversely equaled. The tight clamping heat that had surrounded his stiff organ was one reason he had found it so hard to apologize. He had found great pleasure in fucking Squall, so it was difficult to regret something that had felt so damn good.

Optimistically, Seifer's hands snuck beneath the hem of his rival's thin white t-shirt. Groping and squeezing toned flesh, his rough fingers greedily felt smooth skin as though it were a foreign treat. It was a wonder to him that Leonhart could have such creamy skin, but he supposed he was just used to the feel of his own tanned hide that was far from soft after years of exposure to the sun.

Squall leaned back, the blond following him so their mouths were not deprived of each other. He flinched in surprise when jolting pleasure coursed through him. Rough fingers were toying with his hardened nipples.

Seifer smirked into their kiss. Leonhart's reaction had been satisfactory considering he had barely touched the man. "You like that?" he whispered huskily, a hair's breadth between their slick lips.

Squall nodded numbly in response. Consumed with lust, seeking base pleasure was his only goal. His tongue darted out to lap at the ex-knight's lips. He was dissatisfied that they weren't kissing.

Chuckling darkly, Seifer reached a hand up and fisted lengthy brown hair before plundering his rival's mouth mercilessly. He had never felt so alive as when Leonhart melted against him and his blood heated to a nearly unbearable degree. His other hand remained in place against the lithe fighter's firm chest, and he brushed the man's pert nub once again. The result of his actions was a moaning simper from the submissive beauty in his lap.

Shivering convulsively, Squall felt the entire world fade away. His hips bucked forward, rubbing against the hard bulge poking him from beneath.

Breaking away, Seifer cast his head back and groaned as his stiff cock was rubbed against. Opening his eyes, he decided to give justice a little hand and take Leonhart regardless of the less than desirable circumstances. Taking hold of a delicate chin, his thumb pressed against a plump bottom lip. As he held the panting brunet's flushed face, a warm tongue licked his thumb lasciviously. Though his parting kiss had hardly been innocent, his intentions had not been to tear his rival's clothes off and have his wicked way with the man in the car. Eyes narrowing, Seifer accused, "You've tempted me."

Squall didn't answer. He was entirely drunk. Lust had intoxicated his senses and he was a great deal more accepting of it than on previous occasions. Mimicking the blond's hold, he set a hand at the junction between ear and jaw. Involuntarily, his hips ground down again.

Jaw dropping as he let out a breathy groan, the hand Seifer had beneath Leonhart's shirt shot to the man's waist. Caressing lower, he groped his rival's enticing ass and aided in grinding their pelvises together repeatedly.

"Nnh," Squall moaned encouragingly. Releasing the ex-knight's thumb, he sunk his teeth into his swollen bottom lip.

Surging forward, Seifer sought to top the brunet by flipping the man into the passenger seat where there was a bit more room. Sadly, he had not accounted for the steering wheel so narrowly distanced from the awkwardly posed swordsman.

Squall jumped at the sound of a blaring horn. Quite startled, his heart raced and the veil of lust quickly lifted.

"Shit," Seifer cursed, arms still wound around the smaller man's form.

Needing little time to assess the situation, Squall hastily scrambled away. With the passenger side door half open before he even left the ex-knight's lap, he snatched his sweatshirt hastily and shrugged into it as soon as he was in the seat beside the blond. He wasn't sure if having an erection was going to make it easier or harder to face his family. He would certainly have something to distract him when answering everyone's questions.

Covering his face, Seifer groaned in frustration as he sunk back into his seat. It wasn't fair. There was no justice in the world.

Licking his lips, acutely aware of how kiss bruised they were, Squall regarded his companion dolefully. Leaning over, he clutched the blond's red dress shirt and kissed the man hard. Keeping it short, he broke away and muttered, "Sorry." The guilt over his actions hadn't set in yet. Until his stomach turned to knots and his berating conscience declared him to be a deplorable person, he remained truly grateful for being given a few brief moments of relief. He had dreamt of Cale and not been spared a single moment of peace all night, but when the ex-knight had kissed him, his dark thoughts had scattered and all but disappeared indefinitely.

Jade-green eyes watched ruefully as the greatest cock-tease in existence left him with a raging hard on. Banging his head against the headrest several times, he then reached around the steering wheel and turned the ignition key.

TBC…

Author's note: Wow, I've never rewritten and discarded so much for a chapter. Every time I wrote something, I'd read it the next day and deem it completely unnecessary or disagreeable with mood of the chapter. 0o it was getting a little frustrating. This was a rather sappy chapter, but some quality Seifer and Squall time that didn't involve fighting was overdue. You'll have to forgive the typos, general grammatical errors, and perhaps repetitive reference nouns. I didn't read over this chapter as many times as I would have liked. Again, I cannot give enough thanks for all the reviews. You guys really keep me going. Thank you so much. I hope you liked it.


	30. Chapter 30

Defining Love

Chapter Thirty

With acute discomfort, Squall tugged his baggy sweatshirt lower. He glanced up and down the hallway outside his apartment furtively, as though expecting to find curious onlookers. There was no one else in sight. Aside from the guard in the lobby of the building, he hadn't run into anyone on his way up.

Bracing himself for what came next, he took a deep breath. At length, when he felt he could receive his family, he swiftly swiped his key card through the narrow slit in the side panel. The apartment door slid open smoothly.

Squall stepped inside and stood rigidly, half expecting to be tackled by one or all of three persons eagerly awaiting his arrival. With no one in sight, he was momentarily disappointed, but then he began to hope that he might slip into his bedroom undetected and alleviate his somewhat painful predicament before facing anyone. Slowly walking farther in, he frowned while scanning the vacant premises. No one seemed to even be home.

Forgetting that he should take advantage of his auspicious timing, he became concerned. Lips parting as he started to call out and announce his arrival, he raised a hand at the last second and covered his mouth. It would be best not to alert anyone of his presence prematurely if there was anyone to actually alert. Toeing his sneakers off, he quietly patted his way across the main flat and down the narrow hallway. Reaching his bedroom, he peered inside the open door. The door was open, but no one was inside.

He moved swiftly across the room, his eyes glancing briefly at the disturbed covers of his bed while he remembered the night before. Feeling as though someone were following on his heels, he did not relax until the bathroom door was securely locked behind him. Letting out a long sigh, he wondered how Seifer was fairing with the same problem.

It had been foolish to kiss the ex-knight in the car. Anyone could have walked by and there were no doubt a number of drivers who had caught a glimpse. If the horn hadn't startled him, he might still be with the frisky man, probably doing a whole lot more than kissing.

Squall's hand involuntarily rose to his mouth. His fingertips brushed swollen lips tentatively. He didn't know if it had felt so good because Seifer was an incredibly skilled kisser or because of the strangely powerful attraction between them. His body shivered simply recalling the event and he swore he could feel strong hands ghosting along his body. It had been the same way after the ex-knight had forcibly marked his neck and collar. He had woken up several nights following the incident with the certainty that the blond was in his bedroom touching him.

Moving toward the long counter where there was a sink and inset mirror, Squall ran a hand through his hair and tried to quiet his arousal. Recalling how he had become aroused in the first place was certainly not helping.

Gnawing on his lower lip, Squall was reluctant to relieve himself. Before long, his vivid memories wore his reluctance down. With thoughts of Seifer and their heated parting in his head, his excitement grew. He leaned back against the counter's edge. Instinctively, one hand slid beneath his hoodie and t-shirt, creeping higher until his fingers brushed over a pert nipple. His other hand slid lower, gliding across the bulge in his jeans to cup his erection through the thick fabric.

Releasing a soft sigh of pleasure, as if to encourage a certain arrogant someone to keep going, Squall was about to undo the top button on his jeans when the gravity of his actions suddenly hit him. Inhaling sharply, his mind cleared.

Aghast, he gripped the counter's edge so tightly his knuckles turned white. With a scowl marring pretty features, he berated his pubescent mindset. At length, he lurched forward and began to take his clothes off. He tore his hoodie and shirt overhead, casting the articles aside angrily. He made hasty work of his pants, suddenly filled with disdain for the clothes he had worn during his time with Seifer.

Knowing his intentions only after he had stripped, he ran a cold shower. There was more than one way to be rid of his arousal. He would not jerk off with images of Seifer in his head. He was appalled for even having the inclination.

Not quite ready to step beneath the shower's uninviting spray, Squall braced his arms against the sink's counter. He stood nude, appearing entirely thoughtful with his eyes trained unseeingly in the dry marble basin. If Cale had known what a fickle person he truly was, the islander never would have ordained to love him. He was completely undeserving of such love. It had been wasted on someone like him. He wasn't sure which was more tragic, Cale's death or the kind man's infatuation with the wrong person. Deep down, he knew there was no difference and that Cale had died for loving him.

Raising his bowed head, Squall stared at his gaunt reflection. His eyes were still red and slightly puffy, unaccustomed to tears. His grief was etched into the solemn contours of his effeminate face, but his actions had most recently proved his state of mind to be otherwise. Someone in grief didn't attempt to fuck the nearest warm body. He was a coward for running away and a bastard for using the ex-knight. Even if Seifer was an ass and had it coming, he had exploited the blond the entire night and proceeded to encourage whatever attraction was between them.

Squall had no intention of see Seifer ever again after he let the man screw him one last time. Acting on any passion that flared when they were together was only leading the man on. He had already led Cale on, and the kind professor had wound up dead for it. He wasn't about to make it a pattern.

Tearing away from the counter, thoroughly disgusted with himself and unable to face his reflection any longer, Squall wrenched open the clear shower door and stepped inside the rectangular stall. He flinched at the cold water, but grit his teeth and forced his body to bear it. The drops quickly began to feel like stinging needles, but he only smiled wryly at the miniscule punishment. Bathing in icy water for the rest of his life could never make up for Cale's death, but any contribution to his suffering was a worthy cause.

--

Pacing in circles, Irvine was beside himself with worry. In one hand, he clutched his cell phone. Each time it rang he would answer with his heart in his throat and high hopes. Repeatedly met with disappointment, it was always Lore calling for an update. His nephew was almost as restless and distressed as he was, but his aching worry was nonpareil. He knew with near certainty that before Cale had died, Squall had been raped.

The phone rang again, not even fifteen minutes since the last time. Irvine rushed to answer it without checking the caller ID.

"Squall?" the gunman questioned earnestly.

Lore spoke, "I guess I don't need to ask if he's contacted you."

Face contorting with anguish, Irvine grit his teeth and beat down his urge to chastise his nephew for calling so frequently. He couldn't blame the boy, but he was on an emotional roller coaster and the constant disappointment he faced when it wasn't Squall calling was seriously damaging to his nerves.

There was a heavy sigh on the other end of the phone. "I can't take this. I'm coming home," Lore announced.

"Good idea," Irvine agreed. It was completely futile for the boy to be in school. He supposed the raven-haired teen had hoped for a little distraction, but calling every fifteen minutes only proved their minds could not be rid of worry.

"I'll hurry. If you hear anything, please call me right away."

"You know I will," Irvine assured, having made the same promise countless times already. After a hesitant pause, he added, "He said he was fine earlier." He wasn't sure whom he was trying to convince.

Lore scoffed. "We all know what his definition of fine is. Why…." He didn't finish his question. Asking his uncle the same question over and over wasn't going to bring an answer. They both wanted to know why his dad was with Seifer. It made no sense. Worse than that, it hurt them. Why would his dad choose to be with the ex-knight over them? "Never mind, I'll be there soon."

"Okay, kid," Irvine acknowledged. Hanging up, his hand automatically squeezed the phone as he resumed his pacing.

The swooshing sound of an opening door caused Irvine to whip around, frantically expectant of whoever was entering the apartment.

Laguna stood in the doorway. White presidential robe hiked up as though he had been running, his hands clutched the draping material. Releasing the robe, it fell to cover his pants and shoes. Striding in and stumbling over the dragging hem, he was closely followed by a burly man who had to turn sideways to enter through the standard sized doorway. The large man reached out to steady an unbalanced president.

"He hasn't called," Irvine informed. He looked from the president to the large framed advisor. He gave a short nod in greeting to Ward Zabac, who he knew was the only person capable of calming Laguna down in such nerve-racking situations. He was reminded of when Ward had settled a frantic grandfather-to-be down outside the delivery room when Squall had given birth.

Brows drawn together sadly, Laguna gazed at the auburn haired gunman with the eyes of a kicked puppy. He had several convincing reports that his son was perfectly fine, alive and uninjured. Nonetheless, he could not rest until he confirmed it with his own eyes. He needed to see Squall and every minute that passed without any word on the reserved man's whereabouts was steadily driving him insane.

Ward stood head and shoulders above the president, dressed similarly in a light grey robe adorned with the government's insignia and his rank as advisor. Covering his frame, the robe was large enough to be used as a makeshift tent. The jagged scar along the left side of his face contorted slightly as he frowned deeply. He made a point of checking his wristwatch, tapping the watch's face in indication that it was becoming rather late to have still not heard from the former commander.

Laguna took his close friend's meaning. Reaching out, he grabbed the man's large hand and pulled it closer to check the time for himself. "Hyne, it's already after one!" he exclaimed, the pitch of his voice fluctuating as his emotions became unmanageable.

Irvine's phone rang again, the sound cutting off any further discussion of how long it had been since anyone last heard from Squall.

"Squall?" Irvine answered before the first ring had even finished its short tune.

"Hey," Squall greeted evenly.

Irvine felt his knees go weak as relief washed over him. "Sweet Hyne, where the hell are you?" he murmured ardently. He needed to know. They all needed to know.

"Home," the elusive brunet replied impassively. "Where are you?" he questioned, having confirmed that no one was at the apartment.

"Stay there," Irvine ordered. "I'm coming to get you. Please, don't go anywhere or do anything."

"…" It was somehow apparent in his silence that Squall he was debating whether or not to remain in place or travel to wherever everyone else was.

Standing before Laguna, Irvine ordered desperately, "Don't go anywhere."

"Okay," Squall agreed at length. His car was still parked outside Cale's apartment building. He had no means of driving himself and didn't fancy a public excursion when everything was being publicized.

"I'll be there in ten minutes," the gunman assured. Meeting hopeful hazel green eyes, he corrected, "Make that five minutes. We'll have the president's escort."

"No," Squall refused. "Don't draw attention."

Reluctant, Irvine quickly remembered that certain precautions were indeed necessary. His excitement was clouding his better judgment. "You're right. I'll come alone then." He had to look away from Laguna when the man seemed ready to cry. "I'm on my way. Please stay where you are, where I can find you."

Between Squall's predictability and Irvine's intimate knowledge of the man, the silence expressed obvious annoyance.

"Please," Irvine implored, knowing the former commander hated the redundancy of making the same assurances over again.

"Fine," Squall bit out indignantly.

--

In his bedroom, Squall packed a black duffel bag that sat on the foot of his bed. He understood why no one had been home. Before details were leaked and the reporters flocked for a story, abandoning home and laying low for a week or two was common sense. Camping journalists would only stake out in the street long enough to realize no one was returning the apartment.

With a heavy sigh, Squall stuffed several folded t-shirts inside his sparsely packed bag. Bowing his head, cold strands of damp hair tickled his cheeks. His shower had been unpleasant, but it had done the trick. Consequently, he couldn't seem to shake the chill that remained. He wore dark blue jeans and one of countless white t-shirts he had in his dresser. In the hopes of warming up, he had more recently donned a knitted forest green v-neck sweater that was perhaps the only reason he wasn't shivering.

The sound of the front door sliding open echoed through the empty apartment and through Squall's open bedroom door. He estimated that barely five minutes had passed since he had spoken with Irvine. He couldn't blame the gunman if the president had insisted on driving wildly through the streets with the sirens blaring, but he prayed that wasn't the case.

Not knowing what to say or how to explain why he had been with Seifer, Squall busied himself with packing again. He sought to feign indifference. If he could keep his composure long enough, then no one would have to know how torn up he was inside. He didn't want anyone to see him so weak. Dealing with an overbearingly concerned family was not something he could handle on top of everything else.

Footsteps approached and Squall suddenly realized that Irvine hadn't called out to him. Frowning, he zipped his bag up and hoisted it onto his shoulder. As he adjusted the strap, he paused. The footsteps had faltered. Eyes narrowing, he became suspicious. It wasn't Irvine.

Right hand twitching, Squall felt the urge to draw a gunblade that wasn't even at his side. He wasn't armed, but he hardly needed a weapon to defend himself. He waited, unwilling to further reveal his location by making more noise than he already had.

"Is someone there?" a familiar voice called out from the corridor leading off the main flat.

Squall's eyes widened. "It's me," he called back, confused as to why Lore was there instead of Irvine.

Running footsteps thudded loudly as Lore ran. Whirling into sight, he suddenly materialized in the doorway and stood with a bracing hand on the frame to keep his momentum from forcing him too far. Blue-green eyes stared disbelievingly. He was in his school uniform, the crisp white dress shirt tucked into khaki pants. His red and gold striped tie hung limply, the knot loosed in a manner that suggested it had never been tied neatly in the first place.

At a loss for what to say or do, Squall settled on removing his duffel bag and setting it gently on the bed. Looking back at his son, he could only assume what he saw was an uncertainty similar to his own. It was then he remembered the boy had been upset with him for kissing Seifer. He was suddenly filled with dread. He was afraid to know the extent of his son's disapproval and disappointment after he had spent the night with Seifer. A kiss was nothing in comparison and everyone must have been informed of who he had been with little more than an hour after Cale had died.

Lore would not have hesitated to go to his father if he were not frozen in place with shock. His father's eyes were cold and distant. There was a chilling wall erected and he had never been shut out so completely before. He knew something was terribly wrong, but could not move past the fact that stormy blue eyes weren't softening just for him. He was actually scared in that moment; frightened that their relationship would never be the same ever again.

"I'm sorry I left without notice," Squall eventually spoke, his words seeming to fall to the ground under the heavy atmosphere.

Lore's phone rang unexpectedly, cutting the air sharply. Startled, he jumped slightly before unclipping the device from his belt. Wanting to turn the phone off, he stopped upon determining that it was his uncle.

Squall shifted his weight and crossed his arms. If it entailed the procrastination of explanations, he would wait all day.

"Uncle Irvine," Lore said as he answered the phone. "I'm with Dad right now."

"You're what?" Irvine questioned dubiously. "I was calling to tell you he called. So you're at home then?"

"Yeah, I just came to grab some stuff for the next couple days," Lore explained. He glanced at his father, but quickly averted his eyes when steely blue orbs showed no sign of softening. He couldn't stand it.

"I'm a couple minutes away. Don't let him go anywhere," Irvine instructed, his greatest fear being that he would lose track of Squall again.

Hand running through short strands of raven hair, Lore muttered, "Okay." When he hung up, he was unable to ignore the awkward predicament of facing his father. He had no idea what the man was thinking.

Resignedly, Squall sat down on the edge of his bed. "I don't know what to say," he admitted. "Are you angry?"

"Angry?" Lore repeated incredulously. His father thought he was angry?

Pinching the bridge of his nose as it became harder to hold everything back from the one person he had never hid his emotions from, Squall bowed his head somberly.

As he took a single step inside the bedroom, Lore was filled with the desire to hug his father. Taking another step and then another, he rushed closer.

Squall looked up, but saw little more than a blur before he was tackled and fell back against his bed. Grunting softly at the unexpected impact, he instinctively accepted his son's hug.

Struggling to sit upright, Lore released his father briefly so that he wasn't crushing the man. Kneeling on the sinking mattress he hastily wound his arms around the small-framed fighter's shoulders and squeezed tightly. "Where were you? Are you okay?" he asked thickly.

Twisting uncomfortable as his legs hung over the edge of the bed and his upper body turned to the side under the influence of his son's arms, Squall informed, "I'm fine."

Sitting back, his shoes snagging the blanket and tugging it out of place, Lore kept his hands on his father's shoulders as though the man would disappear if he broke contact. "You're not fine," he refuted firmly. "You were missing and the police called saying Cale died and that you were with him when it happened."

Nodding, Squall glanced away. How many times was he going to have to relive what had happened to Cale before it was enough?

"Never mind," Lore said. "It doesn't matter." Head falling, he rested it against his father's shoulder. He inched closer, refusing to let go anytime soon. "I'm just glad to see you. You have no idea how worried we've all been."

"I'm sorry," Squall said quietly. He raised a hand and brushed short raven hair.

"Is it because I didn't want to talk with you yesterday?" Lore questioned falteringly.

Frowning, Squall gently broke away to look his son in the eyes. "I'd never avoid you," he stated firmly. He waited a moment, impressing absolute sincerity into his words. "You know that, don't you?"

Lore nodded several times. "I'm sorry for being mad and not coming home. It seems so stupid now," he admitted ashamedly.

"I understood," Squall assured.

"It was stupid," Lore concluded disdainfully. Sitting back, he shifted until he sat next to his father, their arms and shoulders touching. "I was so scared that something had happened to you and all I could think of was that the last time we spoke, I brushed you off."

Squall shook his head, reaffirming that it was fine. Reaching out, he drew the boy closer and affectionately kissed his son's temple. It wasn't easy having to force his words out, but he was somewhat soothed by the Lore's presence. He should have known better than to assume answering his son's questions would be the same as answering the lieutenant's. Still, he contended with warring emotions, none of which he wanted his son to see and all of which threatened to break his mask.

Meeting cold grey-blue eyes, Lore almost shied away at how fierce they seemed. "If you don't want to talk about what happened, I won't ask," he said. "It's just, are you really okay?" Upon closer inspection, the pale fighter appeared rather sick. The dark bags under emotionless eyes were too prominent to be healthy.

Staring for a long moment, Squall swallowed the lump in throat. At length, he conceded, "I'm not, but that's between you and me."

Brows drawing contritely, Lore latched onto his father, wishing he could understand more. His father wasn't okay, but he couldn't do anything about it. It wasn't fair. What was the point in knowing something was wrong if he didn't have the power to fix it. He was useless.

Clearing his throat, Squall bit the inside of his cheek harshly. He had already resolved not to cry again. He was done with tears. At the distant sound of the apartment door opening, he patted his son's shoulder and excused, "I think that's your uncle." Breaking away abruptly, he stood and strode from room.

Lore stared after his father, bereft of how to proceed.

Squall was once again swept into a tight embrace just as soon as he stepped into the main flat. Arms pinned to his sides, he gave a quiet sound of protest when he felt certain he was suffocating.

Ignoring the smothered brunet's protest, Irvine didn't relent. "I should hit you for what you did, but Hyne knows I'd rather hug you," he chastised with both anger and relief.

Squall sounded an apology too muffled to be discernable.

"What happened?" Irvine questioned, finally releasing the former commander.

Taking several deep breaths, Squall considered how to answer the gunman. It was a very vague question that basically required him to detail the entire morning and the previous night. Stumbling over various explanations, he quickly realized that it wouldn't be possible to keep his composure while reopening fresh wounds.

In his haste, Irvine had not taken the time to study his weary friend. As he waited for the brunet to explain everything, his eyes picked up on what he should have noticed earlier. The doughty swordsman was far worse off than he had imagined possible. He hadn't thought to find a grief stricken boyfriend, but rather someone respectfully somber. Was Squall actually mourning the loss of Cale?

Noticing the surprise in violet-blue eyes, Squall suspected the lanky man was a bit too perceptive for comfort's sake. Raising a hand, he fussed with his damp bangs as surreptitiously as possible, flattening them to shield any misgivings in his eyes.

"Squall," Irvine began uncertainly, "are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Squall muttered tersely in response to a question he had heard more times than he cared for. "I'd rather not talk about it." He cleared his throat. He needed more time to collect himself. Explanations would have to wait, regardless of how unfair and selfish it was.

Standing back, Irvine frowned. He could understand how recounting everything might be a trying ordeal, but he doubted that the laconic man was just hoping to decrease the number of repetitions by waiting until they were all together. He gave a slow nod of agreement, deciding to corner the pale brunet when they were in the car.

Lore joined the scene, totting his father's duffel bag and a clumsily packed backpack of his own. Moving toward the main door, he suggested, "Let's go before anyone shows up outside."

Following along, Squall was delayed when the gunman caught his wrist. Meeting determined violet-blue eyes, he understood the man wanted a private word with him. He pulled away and started after his son before the discreet exchange was noticed.

As they filed out the door, Irvine sidled close to the swordsman. "We need to talk," he informed quietly.

Glancing sidelong, Squall didn't give a response.

Irvine watched as Squall caught up with Lore. Like magnets, once the pair was close enough, they were attached. Even if the brunet was averse to answering his questions, there was one matter in particular that he needed to discuss right away.

Nearing the elevator, Squall murmured to his son, "I can take my bag."

"I got it," Lore returned simply. "How much did you pack? There doesn't feel like there's much in it."

Shrugging, Squall pressed the down button on the panel beside the elevator doors. "Enough," he answered at length, stepping past opening doors. Maneuvering into a corner, he crossed his arms and stared intently at the ground.

Once confined together, Squall realized just how badly the other two wanted to ask him questions. Every second of silence represented repressed concern and curiosity. He knew he should speak up. He kept silent though.

Irvine cleared his throat. "Listen Squall, it's not like you have to account for anything, but you understand that we were going out of our minds. Considering a man is dead, it isn't the time to give the bare minimum."

Unresponsive, Squall didn't acknowledge that he even heard the gunman. Did the auburn haired cowboy believe him incapable of recognizing when a situation required cooperation? Of course he understood the severity of the circumstances. Cale had been killed. There was no forgetting something like that.

Irvine thumbed the button for the basement floor, where his car was parked in the garage. Turning around, he took a short step closer to the former commander. Setting his hands on the man's shoulders, he placated, "We can talk once we're with Laguna. Please don't try to shut us out, darlin'."

Lore glanced at his father uneasily, knowing the man was already doing just that.

"…" Squall looked up, meeting the gunman's gaze evenly. Lips pressed tightly together, he lowered his head again and stared at the floor.

Sighing, Irvine huddled in beside the cloistered swordsman. "I'm your friend," he reminded, his arm wrapping around hunched shoulders.

Squall intoned a quiet sound of agreement, but made no further effort to comply.

Down in the small parking garage, Irvine and Lore involuntarily parted ways as they moved to their respective vehicles. Squall gave it some thought before following the gunman.

Lore stood beside his sunset orange car. Opening the back door, he tossed the two bags he carried inside. It wasn't until he opened the driver side door that he noticed his father was with his uncle. "Dad?" he called.

Squall held the passenger door of Irvine's car open. "I'm riding with your uncle," he said, explaining the obvious. The sight of pleading blue-green eyes nearly destroyed his resolve, so he promptly slid inside the black SUV.

Irvine knew what the boy was thinking. Glancing behind at the car parked beside his, he assured, "There's something I want to talk to him about, so he's riding with me."

Eyeing his uncle suspiciously, Lore debated his options. Though he could easily refuse to be left out by riding with his uncle too, he understood the desire for sequestering his father and having time enough alone to become the man's confidant. He reminded himself that despite the cold eyes he had faced upon arriving home, he was still an exception and wouldn't be frozen out forever. It was still difficult to accept, but he grit his teeth and ducked inside his car.

Irvine watched regrettably as his nephew pulled out fast and sped away. Sighing, he clambered inside the vehicle he was borrowing from the government. He pulled the door shut with a sealing clunk, securing his privacy with the reticent swordsman. He gave the brunet beside him an apologetic look. "Sorry to put you two at greater odds, but I doubt you want Lore to hear."

Suddenly wary of what the gunman had to say, Squall watched the man keenly. He remained silent while gazing out the window. As they pulled out into the street, he shied away from the light. The sun shone directly in his face. Sitting back, he directed his attention to his friend.

Hands gripping the steering wheel tighter, Irvine informed, "I washed the sheets on the guest bed."

If Squall had any color in his face to lose, he would have. Unable to pale, the shocked and somewhat frightened expression in grey-blue eyes served to reveal what he felt at that moment. His mind had been so occupied with thoughts of Cale that he had forgotten all other matters.

Irvine was forced to temper his emotions. Slowing near a stoplight, he blurted out, "He raped you, didn't he!?" He had not meant to say it with such volatility, but his worry and concern had been multiplied by the fact that he had found bedding with blood and semen on it. No one else knew. No one else had contended with such seething hatred and amplified fear over Squall's well being.

Squall swallowed thickly. "No," he murmured quietly.

"Squall!" Irvine snapped, eyes flashing with anger as he shot the brunet a misdirected glare. "Don't give me any of your bullshit right now. Do you have any idea how worried I've been?"

Defensively, Squall returned, "What exactly do you want me to say? Do you want me to lie?"

"No!" Irvine shot back. "I want the truth. I want the unabridged version of what happened."

"Unabridged?" Squall repeated incredulously. Staring fixedly out the passenger side window, he squinted against the sun. His emotions were running high and his frustration over trying to calm down was only making it worse. Hands resting on his knees, his fingers dug into the denim material of his pants. Controlling his voice carefully, he said, "I had sex with Seifer. There is nothing more to it." He couldn't even muster embarrassment over the admission.

Veering off to the side of the road, Irvine slammed on the brakes. Coming to sudden halt, he surged forward and strained against his seatbelt. Waiting several moments, he turned to face his startled passenger. "Stop it, just stop it. How well do you think I know you?" Fist thumping the top of the steering wheel, he pointed out, "Every time you're hurt, you try to hide it. The more you try to hide, the more hurt I know you are. If you don't start talking to me soon, I'm going to think you're completely broken."

Head bowed, Squall contended with his conflicting emotions. Taking a steadying breath, he whispered, "It was just sex." He flinched at the sound of the gunman punching the car horn. It was no doubt quite the spectacle for passersby.

"It wasn't just sex!" Irvine hissed. "You can't tell me it was when I know for a fact it wasn't. There was blood."

Biting his lip harshly, Squall held back and stubbornly kept a calm demeanor. "He was rough," he excused simply.

"Define rough," Irvine bit out coldly. He was frustrated and hurt by his close friend's behavior. Why wasn't the man confiding in him? Why did Squall always close up and handle everything alone when the situation became most difficult? It wasn't fair.

Mask cracking, Squall lifted his head and gazed at the gunman. Anguish was evident in his eyes. "It doesn't matter," he declared. "Whatever happened with Seifer doesn't matter anymore. Cale's dead and it's my fault. Right now I don't care about anything else."

Anger dissipating in record timing, Irvine reached out and set his hand on the brunet's shoulder gently.

Squall brushed the consoling man's hand away. "I can't talk about this right now, Irvine. Don't press me. I can't do it." Lowering his head in defeat, he pinched the bridge of his nose and fought stubbornly against the urge to break down entirely.

"Squall?" Irvine intoned diffidently. "It's okay to-"

Squall cut the gunman off, turning his head and glaring. "To what?" he questioned tersely. "It's okay to cry? It's okay to be weak?"

Tucking an escaped tendril of loosely bound hair behind his ear, Irvine assured, "Yes, it is. It's okay to express whatever you feel, especially now."

Squall scoffed. "I've done enough crying for one lifetime," he informed with bitter contempt. "Nothing will change. Cale will stay dead." When it seemed his friend wanted to console him further, he muttered, "Just drive."

Complying, Irvine pulled back onto the road and drove solemnly. "It's not your fault," he said after several tense moments of silence.

Squall didn't respond. He knew what part he had played better than anyone else and would not be deterred from taking the blame. He would, however, prefer not to listen to everyone repeatedly telling him it wasn't his fault.

"Did you love him?" Irvine questioned quietly, as though he feared the answer.

The gunman's question struck a chord in Squall. Sitting straight, he met violet-blue eyes sadly. "I should have," he replied forlornly. Looking away, he stared out the window again, his eyes not actually seeing anything outside.

--

Irvine leaned back against the side of the sleek black Behemoth SUV on loan for the duration of his stay in Esthar. Wearing long black pants and an indigo dress shirt, rolling the cuffs of his sleeves up was the least he could to keep cool beneath the beating rays of the sun. It was high noon and he had called Almasy out. He waited in what would soon be paved over and made into the parking lot of Almasy's new training center. A short distance ahead was the nearly complete stadium.

Seifer appeared in the entrance to his personally designed edifice. From within the shadowed stadium, he strode casually outside. He appeared quite the businessman in his slate grey suit. Golden hair combed back pristinely, he carried an air of refinement that was not without the rough edges of a rogue fighter.

Though he glared heatedly, Irvine made no further acknowledgment of the approaching ex-knight. It had been a full day since Squall's return, but his concern had not diminished any. The former commander had taken to total isolation, which gave him no chances to even attempt to break down any walls. He suspected Almasy knew something or could at least explain more about what had happened following Cale's death.

Smirking arrogantly, Seifer stopped several feet away from the armed gunman. The holstered gun at the man's hip was obviously bared as a warning. He found it amusing, but could not wholly write it off when he felt certain Kinneas was looking for an excuse to shoot him.

"I'm here," Seifer announced. Unbuttoning his suit jacket, he slowly slipped it off as though preparing for a fight. When the gunman straightened defensively, he draped the jacket over the crook of his elbow and reached a hand up to loosen his tie. "It's hot out," he said, slyly excusing his actions as something harmless. He almost laughed at the cowboy's reaction.

Eyes narrowing in warning, Irvine did not take kindly to being toyed with. "I'm not here to play games. I'm here for answers," he stated.

"Fair enough," Seifer conceded. He had no motivation to divulge the details of his night with Leonhart. "I do, however, reserve the right to not supply you with the answers you seek."

"I will shoot you where you stand, Almasy," Irvine said slowly. "I'm not upholding any laws or respecting any rights you think you have." He set his right hand on his hip, his fingers brushing the unclasped holster and butt of his gun. Drawing the blood of the overbearing megalomaniac would only lighten his heavy mood.

Seifer chuckled amicably. "Are you still sore about our last conversation?" he questioned, his tone slightly taunting. Pausing, he rubbed his chin and eyed the gunman intently. "Or is it something else? Perhaps you're agitated because Leonhart was with me."

"Perhaps," Irvine muttered with disdain. "Why was he with you?" he inquired through clenched teeth.

Eyebrows rising, Seifer regarded the sharp shooter with mock surprise. "He didn't tell you? That shy little devil probably won't tell you a thing, will he?" The gunman's hand moved faster than green eyes could even see. A shot resounded through the air and the packed dirt at his feet smoldered with a freshly embedded bullet. Turning his attention to the ground, he stared impassively at the warning shot.

"This is one fight I'll win," Irvine informed. He might not be capable of defeating the ex-knight with fists alone, but he could take anyone down using a gun.

"Did you try using this tactic on Leonhart? I'm sure he'd open up if you applied the right kind of pressure," Seifer suggested, his bright eyes flashing with annoyance. He was hardly willing to go down without a fight, but even he could not deny the gunman had him by the throat.

Irvine aimed the barrel of his Beretta at the blond's left leg. "The next one goes in your knee," he said venomously.

Inclining his head, Seifer peered down at the offensive cowboy. "You're more trouble than you're worth," he grumbled. "What the hell do you want to know?"

"Did you rape Squall?" Irvine questioned poignantly, his words hanging in the air.

Straightening to his full height, Seifer sneered. Leonhart's ridiculously protective guard dog already had an answer to that question and anything he said would only agitate the man further. Stalling as he calculated the probability of successfully dodging the next bullet, he asked, "Are you talking about him getting knocked up?"

Rolling his eyes, Irvine ordered, "Don't be a smart ass. You know what I'm talking about. Wednesday, you were at his apartment and you called me looking for him. Either you found him and raped him, or you raped him and he ran off. Which is it?"

Seifer made his move. Lashing his suit jacket out like a whip, he knocked the gunman's steady arm aside. Another shot sounded and a bullet whizzed by, missing his left shoulder by an inch. Swiftly stepping around, he tackled the man to the ground. Making certain to take hold of the hand with the gun, he crushed Kinneas' right wrist until the man's hand dropped the weapon.

"Fucking bastard!" Irvine shouted, thrashing against the heavy weight pinning his body.

"I know," Seifer agreed. Fending off striking hands, he retrieved the fallen gun and chucked it beneath the car. He had no use for such a weapon and resented having to touch it at all. Managing to bind the cowboy's hands, he almost laughed at how easy it was. Kinneas was taller than Leonhart, but barely ten pounds heavier. The lanky man didn't stand a chance against him in hand-to-hand combat.

"Did you rape him!?" Irvine shouted furiously, his face tinged a baleful shade of red. Kicking at the ground, he tried to slide out from beneath the ex-knight.

"I did," Seifer informed. Eyes casting a downward gaze, his lids were mere slits. He appeared deadly serious.

Irvine went still. Staring at the blond, he questioned fretfully, "What?"

"I raped him," Seifer affirmed. Expression remaining hard, he elaborated slowly and cruelly, "I raped his virgin ass." He paused, angling his head down to better meet the gunman's bewildered eyes. "Do you know how I knew he'd never taken cock before? It was so tight, he cried at the pain from having my dick forced inside him."

Voice trembling, Irvine declared, "I'll kill you."

"You won't," Seifer rejected. "He'd never forgive you if you killed me."

"I doubt he gives a damn!" Irvine yelled. "I'm going to kill you!" Thrashing, he renewed his struggles to break free. His vision had gone red. A very distant part of his brain was frightened at the magnitude of malevolence he felt, but the ex-knight had a talent for bringing out such feelings in him. His entire body was consumed with the desire to end the life of the man who had hurt his best friend.

Seifer simply waited. As the cowboy struggled and sent incoherent curses his way, he kept the man pinned. While his efforts didn't even cause him to break into a sweat, the gunman panted for breath. "You're seriously underestimating Leonhart," he muttered in annoyance. Several strands of his hair hung limply and he resented having any evidence that he was working to keep control.

Strength waning, Irvine fell calm. His chest heaved and he silently cursed the futility of his struggles. "If I don't kill you first, others will. You'll have to leave Esthar, you piece of shit."

Scoffing, Seifer pointed out, "Considering I sat beside Leonhart as he talked to the police about Bernhein, I don't think he's going to be pressing any charges against me." What he'd done with his rival would more accurately be considered rough and botched up sex, but a small guilty part of him found a sense of retribution in owning up to a more severe title. Calling it rape also allowed him to screw with the gunman, which was an amusing aspect to it.

Brows furrowing angrily, Irvine tried to process the ex-knight's words. "What do you mean?" he questioned warily.

"I mean, Leonhart's over it. Just how little resilience do you think he has?" Seifer groused.

"About the police," Irvine hissed. "What do you mean you were with him?"

Seifer shook his head. "I'll admit to violating Squally-boy, but unless you've got a gun aimed at my dick, what happened after I picked him up from Bernhein's place is not something I'll be telling you."

"I'll find out one way or another," Irvine threatened.

"Not from me," Seifer informed. Staring at the angry gunman, he muttered, "I'm not letting you up until you've cooled your head."

"It won't change that I'm going to shoot you," Irvine returned, smirking perniciously.

"Does Leonhart know you're here?" Seifer questioned curiously. "Did you ever think of leaving well enough alone?"

Irvine glared. "I'd leave it alone if things were well, but they're not. You'll pay for what you did to Squall."

"I already paid my dues, Kinneas," Seifer said. "What happens between me and Leonhart is between us. If he wants to make something else of it, that's his business. I already warned you not to get in my way."

"I'll never let you have a clear path to him," Irvine vowed.

"Give it a rest," Seifer muttered disgustedly. "Do you have any idea how pathetic you are? You come whining to me like some jealous lover every time Leonhart has a thought about me. You married that messenger girl, didn't you? Stop pining after what you'll never have."

"Don't you dare presume to understand my feelings for Squall. I won't have a rapist like you defiling the meaning of my friendship."

"Friendship?" Seifer mocked. "You're in love with him, you repressed moron. At least admit that much, then maybe I'll give you some standing the next time you come bitching to me." His jealousy was incited and he hypocritically wanted to warn the gunman to keep violet-blue eyes off his rival. His feelings towards Leonhart were becoming murkier the deeper they went.

"Stop it!" Irvine shouted. "It's not like that!" He had never once harbored tainted thoughts or feelings for the former commander. He couldn't stand to have anyone accuse him of such a crime, especially the ex-knight.

Seifer lost his grip on one of the gunman's hands. Earning a fist to his face for lowering his guard, he growled an angry note before returning the gesture. "Then what's it like, Kinneas?" he said in an antagonizing tone. "Do you want his body? Have you been wagging your tail for the past seventeen years in the hopes that he'll one day open himself up to you like a book? Just what has he done to command such sickening devotion?" He felt the urge to strike the cowboy again, believing the man wanted exactly what he did. There was something about Leonhart that attracted him and he believed it impossible for anyone else to have a greater constitution for resisting such sex appeal than he did. Had Kinneas actually tasted his rival? He'd make Leonhart tell him the next time they met, or perhaps beat it out of the cowboy while he had the chance.

"You could never understand," Irvine spat. "He's our leader. A selfish bastard like you could never understand anything."

"Then where is the rest of your little gang? Where are the others? Time and again, it's only been you and that kid. Don't you live all the way in Trabia?"

Violet-blue eyes narrowing dangerously, Irvine said lowly, "Let me up."

"Only if you plan on getting in your car and leaving," Seifer conditioned. "You're totally out of line coming here in the first place, and you have the balls to point a gun at me like you're in the right."

"I am," Irvine returned. "I'm here because Squall's hurt and you had a hand in it."

Seifer scowled. "That's bullshit, Kinneas. You'd be with Leonhart right now if you were concerned about him. You're here because you can't stand not knowing the finer details. Stop being a damn muckraker. At the rate you're going, I'm better fit to console him."

Irvine's eyes widened at the ex-knight's accusations.

Glancing away, Seifer feared he had given away something about his actions on the night of Bernhein's unexpected demise. He didn't regret taking Leonhart home and keeping the broken man at his side, but his motivations were suspect. He didn't need Kinneas accusing him of having feelings for his rival. He absolutely refused to accept the slightest possibility that he cared.

"Tell me what I want to know," Irvine demanded.

Chuckling darkly, Seifer muttered sarcastically, "You're in a fine position to be giving me orders."

"Almasy," Irvine growled in warning.

"No," Seifer bit out testily. "I've had enough of your barking. It had its amusements, but it's grown old. I'll let you up, but you're going to get in your damn car and get the hell out of my sight."

Straining against the ex-knight's bruising hold, Irvine demanded stubbornly, "Tell me!"

"No!" Seifer shouted right back. "You need to learn that Leonhart isn't inept. He's the only person I recognize as my rival, which means he can take care of himself. Give him more than a day to get his shit together and maybe you'll see what I'm talking about."

Glaring, Irvine didn't respond. It had only been a day since Cale's death and the now confirmed rape, but Squall only seemed to be getting worse.

Leaning forward, Seifer brought his face closer to the gunman's. "Where should you be right now?" he questioned slowly and with as much condescension as he could fit into the single question.

Irvine stared up defiantly. He winced when the tightening grip of the ex-knight's strong hands threatened to snap his wrists in half. Sharp green eyes demanded that he answer the question. He opened his mouth to protest the blond's painful actions, but the man eased off abruptly.

"Come on Kinneas, don't make me put in true or false format," Seifer cajoled.

Wincing again as the ex-knight's hold on his crossed wrists tightened tenfold, Irvine answered involuntarily. "With Squall," he hissed. The blond eased off again and his own words echoed in his head. His eyes widening as he realized the truth to his unprompted answer.

Seifer nodded. "If I had to guess, I'd say you've been backing him into a corner, pressing him for answers he doesn't want to give," he surmised soundly.

Irvine shook his head. "I haven't…" he began, but trailed off as he realized he was defending himself before the ex-knight. "Who are you to accuse me?" he redirected.

"I bet he's holed up in a room, refusing to eat, sleep, speak, or even look at any of you," Seifer continued, almost laughing at the way violet-blue eyes widened when he hit the mark squarely.

"How?" Irvine mumbled.

"I'll say this one last time," Seifer announced. "Get in your car and leave." Leaning back, he released the pinned gunman. Feeling confident he had argued his side convincingly enough, he stood up and started to brush his clothes off. Kinneas would probably shoot him down for having sex with Leonhart, but he was safe for another day at least.

Rolling onto his side, Irvine kneeled slowly. He clenched his fists angrily, wanting to strike the blond. He hated the arrogant man. His hatred only increased with the knowledge that everything the egocentric ex-knight had told him to do was actually in Squall's best interest. He shouldn't have left Squall's side, no matter how frustrated he had become.

"Kinneas," Seifer called, brushing a speck of dirt from the front of his shirt.

"What?" Irvine snapped, finally clambering to stand on his own two feet.

With a demeanor of contradicting calmness, Seifer punched the gunman. Aiming carefully, he made certain it was more painful than his last hit.

Stumbling, Irvine nearly fell. The entire left side of his face radiated with sharp pain. Clutching his face, he straightened and glared. "Are you insane!?" he bit out, his jaw hurting from the movement. "Haven't you given me enough reasons to kill you?"

Seifer tugged the cuff of his sleeve into the place. "Consider it a parting gift for wasting my time," he muttered. Striding to his fallen suit jacket, he bent down to retrieve it. Straightening, he started to walk off, brazenly turning his back on a sharp shooter with the means and motivation to snipe him right then and there. "If it's any consolation, I didn't exactly rape him," he called over his shoulder.

TBC…

Author's note: I'm too close to every chapter I finish. Does anyone else always have the mistaken impression about their work? I'm the same way with tests. If I finish confidently and think I did well, I usually receive a D or C. Other times, if I think I flunked a test, I'll get it back with a great big A on the front. It's like that with this story. At times, I feel like a chapter will disappoint, but get only positive feedback. At other times, I'm super proud, but the general consensus is that it could be better. 0o I am glad everyone liked the last chapter. I just hope this one measures up. Sorry for rambling, I was in the mood to ramble. The scene between Irvine and Seifer got drawn out more than I wanted it to, but at least that inevitable confrontation is over.


	31. Chapter 31

**Warning:**Smut ahead, and there is no avoiding it since it's a longwinded bit that compromises most of this chapter It's graphic and just the sort of perverted thing a yaoi fangirl writes, so no underage readers.

Defining Love

Chapter Thirty-One

Seifer laughed dryly as a heavy pellet of rain hit the windshield of his car. The single drop was followed by a staccato of others, heralding an expected downpour. Gloomy skies had been promising rain since before the sun had even risen, which he found amusingly ironic. The past three days had been nothing but sunshine and it seemed all too fitting that the weather should turn dreary on the very day Bernhein was to be buried.

His car was parked across the street from the cemetery where the funeral was taking place. He was one of many inline alongside the wide road. He had not joined in on the solemn procession of vehicles and he would not actually enter the cemetery to join gathered mourners. He had not been acquainted with the deceased beyond a passing introduction. His current agenda had nothing to do with paying respects, but recruiting Leonhart for an evening of serious fucking.

Checking his watch, Seifer determined that it was nearly two o'clock. He had been waiting for thirty minutes and was beginning to wonder if the geniuses behind planning the funeral had forgotten to dig the plot up prior to the depressing event. Deciding he could stand to wait another fifteen minutes, his fingers drummed a bored tune on the steering wheel. The rain began to fall more heavily, the visual outside his windshield becoming extremely blurred.

With high stonewalls bordering the cemetery, he couldn't see beyond the entrance and winding gravel path leading inward. He had not seen Leonhart enter hollowed grounds, but he knew the steely-eyed swordsman was near nonetheless. Waiting like a good little boy was a trying ordeal all on its own. His patience was soon rewarded when a figure with a black umbrella exited the graveyard through tall iron gates. Unable to see clearly through the rain, he started his car up and turned the wipers on. The figure was a woman he didn't recognize, but as more people followed he knew Leonhart would soon show up.

After a large group of young women in team jerseys flocked for cover from the rain, Seifer spotted his quarry. Proceeded by an older couple with hair so stark white that he knew they had to be relatives of Bernhein's, his attention was captured wholly by his rival. Dressed uniformly with every other man on sight, the ghostly pale brunet wore a black suit and solemn expression.

Seifer swallowed thickly, wishing he had a clearer visual. Ushered by Kinneas, he watched as the cowboy held an umbrella and kept an arm around his rival's shoulders. It was difficult to see any detail through the rain.

Reaching into his pocket, Seifer retrieved his cell phone. He watched Leonhart attentively as he called, not knowing with any certainty that the swordsman would have the phone turned on or even be carrying it on such a day. When the brunet stirred from the cowboy's hold, he grinned broadly while spying from across the street. He wasn't a voyeur by nature, but warmth gathered in his loins at the sight of Leonhart responding to his call.

Waiting in anticipation, Seifer continued to grin as the brunet stared down at the phone in hand. His name was no doubt on the caller ID. He wondered what thoughts were running through his rival's head. His timing was far too auspicious to be coincidence.

As if on cue, Seifer observed the intuitive fighter glancing around the surrounding area in the hopes of locating him. Steely blue eyes met his for an instant, but the cowboy interrupted and seemed to ask what Leonhart was looking for. Willing his rival to simply answer the phone, he was given his wish.

Breaking away from his consoling friend, Squall gestured a need for a moment alone. Once out of earshot he asked evenly, "What do you want?"

Seifer saw the brunet break away from Kinneas while holding a phone to his ear, seemingly ignorant of the rain. The effeminate man's dulcet voice seemed to travel straight to his groin, pulsing some faint pleasure through him with each syllable. "You'll catch a cold like that. Take Kinneas' umbrella," he instructed.

"You're a real bastard to show up here," Squall hissed, heated emotion lacing his words despite his best efforts to remain impassive.

"Do you think I stayed in my car because of the rain? I have some integrity, however infrequently I choose to act with it." Shifting in his seat, Seifer sought a position that kept him from focusing on his semi hard penis. He concluded that Leonhart was a siren, which was perhaps part of why the man was so laconic.

"I can't talk now," Squall excused.

"Then I'll make this quick," Seifer interceded before the brunet hung up. He watched as Kinneas walked towards his rival. He knew Leonhart didn't want to be overheard. "Meet me tonight at my place after seven."

Squall stayed on the line long enough to hear the ex-knight dictate instructions for a meeting place and relative time. Hanging up, he flipped his phone shut and pocketed the device before his actions became any more suspicious. Turning around, he almost ran into Irvine.

"Was that Seifer?" Irvine questioned as he stepped close and extended his umbrella out to shield the former commander.

Squall gave a faint nod in confirmation. Unable to meet the gunman's eyes, he started to step around the man. Pausing midway, he said in a quiet voice that barely carried above the sound of the rain, "I'm sorry to worry you." Not knowing how else to express his feelings over distressing his best friend with his behavior, he left the matter alone and walked away towards the hastily departing crowd of Cale's family, friends, colleagues, and students.

While everyone rushed to find cover from the rain, Squall felt oddly soothed by it. Though it was warm, his body felt strangely chilled. He couldn't shake the numbness he had felt all day.

Squall stood on the sidewalk outside the cemetery. His son stood beside Irvine, both of them giving him space and not approaching. The concerned pair remained stationary; standing beneath their umbrellas while everyone else hurriedly vacated the depressing and sodden scene. He spotted Laguna ducking into an armored car, unable to delay the task of running the country. Looking across the street, he found jade-green eyes again. Staring for a long moment, he gave the faintest of nods, acquiescing without consciously considering what he was agreeing to.

In his car, Seifer smirked victoriously. With his mission accomplished, he pulled out and decided his next task was to plan for the evening ahead. There was no point in screwing his rival again if the man didn't beg him for more afterwards.

Sighing, Squall stared after the pursuing blond as the man drove off. Finally acknowledging what had transgressed, he shook his head in disapproval of his subconscious decision. Whether or not he actually showed up at the ex-knight's apartment was another matter altogether.

Lore stood beside his uncle, looking towards his father uncertainly. When his father started walking back through the cemetery gates, he rushed to follow. Between Cale's death and how it was affecting his father, he didn't know which was worse.

--

Squall lay awake in bed, surrounded by the absolute darkness of an unfamiliar room. The heavy silence was disturbed each time he shifted into a more comfortable position, the unworn material of the comforter and sheets sliding together loudly. He and Lore were still staying with Laguna and the dark room felt unfamiliar in a way that caused uneasiness.

Opening sleepless eyes, he glanced at the radio clock on the nightstand. It was after midnight. The numbers were strikingly bold in their soft red glow, piercing the shadows enough to illuminate a small portion of the nightstand. He felt as though he were being told that he shouldn't be there.

Groaning at his nebbish reluctance to make a steady decision not to go, he rolled over and snatched an unused pillow. Though he had not slipped away to meet the ex-knight, thoughts of doing so had plagued him since before seven o'clock had even come around. The entire day had crept along at a painstakingly slow pace and the minutes had turned into hours when he knew Seifer was waiting for him.

Biting his lip, Squall tightened his hold on the spare pillow and forced his body to forget the ex-knight's heated touch. He had spent the day in the presence of Cale's parents, who had come all the way from the Island Closest to Hell. Hearing countless stories of Cale's childhood and how much the professor talked about him only served to refresh each contrite feeling that twisted his stomach into knots.

Valiant in his effort to stubbornly toss and turn in bed with no escape from himself or the pending day of oppressive concern that lay ahead, Squall managed to stay in bed until two o'clock in the morning. Though his lip had taken the brunt of his efforts, his teeth having worried the soft flesh until it stung and tasted coppery with blood, he otherwise lacked any physical manifestations of his most recent dilemma. His battle was mental and in his state, his mind wasn't really up for the fight.

Casting aside the covers, he hastened to find some distraction before he wore down each of his excuses not to give the arrogant ex-knight a late night visit. Deciding to take a cold shower, which was his latest habit, he walked quietly to the bathroom.

--

Seifer awoke to the sound of someone knocking at his door. The telltale rhythm was both sharp and exceedingly polite for the amount of courtesy he deserved. Mind and body stirring from a deep sleep, he felt a strong reluctance to wake up. In response to his continued dazed slumber, or rather his failure to answer the door in a timely manner, another short succession of raps sounded, this time slightly more demanding and almost needy.

Not knowing the exact time, Seifer sat up and swung his legs over the edge of his bed. Hanging his head as he tempered his annoyance, he rubbed his eyes and tried to instill further wakefulness. The sordid affair between him and his rival was ridiculously high maintenance considering there were no strings attached.

Heaving a heavy sigh, he stood from his bed wearily. Wearing boxers and t-shirt, a faint chill overcame him from his air-conditioned apartment. Inhaling sharply, his body started to wake up. He navigated his way across the small studio room, avoiding unpacked boxes with the help of memory and dark shadows. He stifled a yawn as he unlocked his door.

As Seifer opened the door, he groused, "It's about fucking time you showed up."

Standing in a dim hallway, Squall gazed up and met jade-green eyes steadily. He didn't speak. His invitation had no technical limit, even if three o'clock in the morning wasn't within the timeframe the ex-knight had in mind.

Blinking sleepily, Seifer reached out and fisted the collar of the brunet's sweatshirt. Yanking the man inside, he slammed his door shut and pinned his rival back against it with a thud. "'After seven' doesn't mean the next damn day," he bit out in agitation.

"I hadn't planned on coming," Squall informed. Knocking the ex-knight's hand away, he glared upwards in defiance.

Regarding the stubborn swordsman keenly, Seifer pointed out smarmily, "And yet you're here." Up close, he observed dark circles beneath sleep deprived eyes and cheeks that seemed hollower than when he last faced the mourning fighter. Though concern flashed through him, he reminded himself that he was the last person who should care about the former commander.

"I'm tired," Squall stated matter-of-factly. "If you want sex, that's fine. Just let me sleep here afterwards." Whether he became ensconced with latent guilt didn't change his current need to find reprieve and a couple hours of sound sleep. He suspected having excruciating sex with Seifer would tip the precarious balance and send his body crashing to a point that overrode his mental inability to shut down. When the blond was through using him, he expected to slip into an unconscious oblivion and forget the recent turmoil in his life.

Seifer had been debating how to broach having sex with Leonhart. In his current state, he was still half asleep and could hardly hope to improve on his last performance. Hearing his rival's unenthused words roused his bruised ego and helped disperse any remaining vestiges of lethargy. A challenge had been issued, whether the unsuspecting brunet knew it or not.

Squall became aware of a change in the ex-knight's demeanor. A silent alarm rang in the back of his mind and heat replaced the cold chill left over from his shower. Seifer was gazing at him intensely, dilated green eyes pinning him in place and stripping him bare. It was as though a switch had been flipped. There was such conflict between them that he could scarcely keep track of it all.

"You can sleep when I'm finished with you," Seifer said. His tone was deathly serious and he almost smirked at the uncertainty that suddenly filled shadowed grey-blue eyes.

Breath hitching, Squall shivered in anticipation. His body seemed to have forgotten the splitting pain of sex with the arrogant ex-knight. As the desire to be touched overcame him, he realized the number of instances the man had pleasured him trounced the single experience in the spare bedroom of his home. No matter how unwilling he might have been at times, it had almost always felt mind numbingly good.

Leaning in, Seifer bent down and whispered against his rival's ear, "Undress and get on the bed." Resolving not to touch the lithe fighter, he pulled back and stepped away.

Squall stared at the ex-knight with a faint blush and obvious disappointment. He had been so certain the man would kiss him. He was embarrassed at the amount of disappointment he felt and the strong urge to pull the blond back down and take initiative. Unwilling to comply, he started to question his instructions, "Why-"

Seifer interjected before his unintentionally persuasive rival caused his resolve to shatter, "Because I don't want to fuck you without preparing you." Reaching out, he nudged the epicene fighter's delicate chin higher. He let his thumb press against beckoning lips. "If I kiss you, I'll lose control." The solution was simple enough if he remained focused and steadfast. Tasting his rival would shatter his willpower and cause him to act too selfish for anyone's pleasure but his own.

Liking the concept of a mindlessly lustful ex-knight, Squall's lips parted as he let out a silent gasp. He had come to the blond's apartment on the grounds of fulfilling their inane deal for sex and to hopefully fall asleep as soundly as he had in the man's arms before. The need to have Seifer touching him and kissing him undermined his belief that he wasn't looking forward to having sex, but the logic behind his feelings didn't keep him from wanting it any less.

"Don't," Seifer muttered tersely as he broke away. He hated losing control. His rival sent his senses reeling with such distinct ease that it was shameful. The former commander simply needed to bat pretty grey-blue eyes and purse pout lips, rending him at the mercy of his body's carnal libido.

Swallowing thickly, Squall took a moment in deciding how to proceed. He had previously consented to sex with the general notion that it would be for Seifer's pleasure and his reluctant submission. Gathering his nerve to follow through and actually heed the blond's instructions, he began to undress. He slowly pulled his hoodie overhead and began removing each article of clothing until he stood completely bare. Hardly bashful, he walked upright to the bed. Meeting the edge with his knees, he hesitated.

Seifer forgot himself, his mind dazed from the tantalizing striptease he had been given. His eyes followed the lithe fighter's every movement. Though he could not understand how another man's body was so arousing and enticing, he could not tear his gaze away. Licking his lips, he observed every inch of smooth flesh from the nape of a slender neck, down a lithely muscled back, and finally to shapely buttocks. He would examine lower yet, but his eyes refused to leave Leonhart's ass.

Turning his head, Squall glanced over his shoulder. He felt a flush overcome his entire body. The ex-knight's gaze was beyond intense and he wasn't sure how much of it he could take. He wanted to protest the watching man's uncomfortably close observation of his exposed body. Heart beating faster, he suppressed his qualms and slowly knelt on the bed.

Forgetting how to breathe, Seifer watched as Leonhart moved with fluid and graceful motion. The mattress sunk silently and he was presented with a sight he didn't quite believe. His eyes saw the stubborn and defiant swordsman lying atop his bed, every inch of pale skin exposed to dim and cool shadows. His brain could not grasp the concept of an agreeable Leonhart willingly stripped and ready to accept his lustful intentions.

Squall let out a quiet sigh, his body responding to the continued gaze of jade-green eyes. His impatience was mounting and so was his arousal.

Led forward by his cock, Seifer took several steps closer to the bed. If he didn't act quickly, he would not keep enough wit about to prepare the fighter's unaccustomed body properly. With the sound of blood thumping in his head from a rapidly beating heart, he stalked away to retrieve a couple necessary items.

Shifting, Squall attempted to cover himself futilely. There was no point in hiding the fact that he was aroused, but a strange sense of modesty overcame him. Being naked in general wasn't embarrassing, but having a hard on in front of someone else was mildly unsettling.

Seifer returned, carrying a box of condoms and bottle of recently purchased lubricant. Managing not to trip while his eyes remained glued to the vision of Leonhart aroused and waiting, he dropped his equipment onto the mattress beside a pale and shapely leg. Feeling as though he should break the silence, he quickly vetoed the inclination, lest he say something unnecessary. Instead, he busied himself with removing his shirt and boxers.

Unable to remain in place, Squall shifted to sit upright. His eyes were glued to the ex-knight's muscular chest. The hollow and sinewy neckline, toned pectorals, and washboard abs stirred something far more warming than admiration inside him. A faint blush graced his cheeks when he brashly raked his eyes lower to Seifer's exposed manhood. Though a shy voice in the back of his mind told him to look away, the stiff organ stood proudly and demanded his attention. The mushroom head was an angry red, the shaft curving slightly and widening slightly at the base. He had not spent any time examining his rival's cock and was suddenly able to understand why it had hurt so much to have such a thick and long organ penetrating him.

"It's impolite to stare," Seifer said huskily, purposefully stepping forward and keeping his erection in Leonhart's line of sight.

Feeling as though he had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, it took Squall a moment to remember himself. "Just returning the favor," he replied, finally managing to tear his gaze from the ex-knight's unsettlingly large manhood. He was suddenly filled with apprehension. Darting another glance southward, he then cast an uncertain gaze to the items the man had deposited near the edge of the mattress. Seifer was going to enter him again, which was obviously the means of sex between men but something he hadn't exactly dwelled on beyond knowing it had hurt the first time. He wished he hadn't seen the size of what was going to breach him.

Seifer did not miss his rival's uneasy expression. "There's no turning back," he informed firmly, kneeling on the mattress and crowding the pale fighter. Hands braced on either side of slim hips, he leaned his face close to the retreating brunet until the man lay flat again. "I'll go slow, but I am going all the way."

Eyes narrowing, Squall resented the unspoken implication that he was afraid.

Smirking roguishly, Seifer gazed deeply into defiant grey-blue orbs. Even naked on his bed, practically squirming beneath him, the stubborn brunet expressed an irritating level of indifference and composure. Backing away, he snatched the box of condoms. With steady hands and surprisingly nimble fingers, he procured a single condom and tore the square packet open.

Squall felt a slight lurch in his stomach. He was nervous. He would be a fool not to cringe from what followed, but he was too stubborn to express the enormity of his adverse apprehensions.

"Relax," Seifer said, leaning closer to hover over his stiff partner. Inches separating their bodies, he fought the intense desire to lie down atop Leonhart and feel the man's warm flesh against his own. In a losing battle, he moved closer until he swore he could feel the heat coming from his rival.

Squall craned his head back slightly, his lips nearly brushing against the ex-knight's. His body was tense with a different sort of anticipation and he couldn't quite remember what he was anxious about. Doubts melting away, he forgot all the reasons why his being there was a bad idea and why he would feel guilty for it later.

"You're tempting me," Seifer accused in a hissing whisper. Though he dipped to capture bowed lips, he reined himself in at the very last second and hovered a hair's breadth away.

Eyes closing, Squall replied, "Does it really matter at this point?" Lifting his head up from the pillow, his lips pressed against Seifer's. His coming there that night was just one more bad decision in a series of many.

Resolve cracking, Seifer's hands quickly found their place on his rival's body. One hand set gruffly on a curved hip, while the other cupped the side of an androgynously attractive face. Leaning over the welcoming fighter's reclined form, he roughly claimed soft lips.

Squall's arms wound around the ex-knight's neck, demanding that the man stay in place. Meeting an insistent tongue, he sighed contently. The feel of Seifer consuming him was strangely familiar. He lost count of the number of times they had kissed. If he were standing, his knees would have given out, his fatigued body holding no resistance to the effects of such powerful lust. A heady veil fell and he was swept along as the pompously arrogant swordsman who he reputedly detested plundered his mouth and wrought muffled simpers of pleasure from him.

Hanging on by a thread, Seifer broke away forcefully. Steeling his resolve, he didn't dare to look Leonhart in lust-dazed eyes. Lewd thoughts racing in his head, the hand that grabbed the forgotten condom was not quite as steady as when he had first opened the small packet. He stared intently at what he was doing, feigning concentration as he struggled to keep his desires in check.

Resisting the urge to tackle the blond to the bed, Squall watched as the man made preparations. His vague concept of what the condom and lubricant were for became clearer when the ex-knight slid the condom onto two fingers and reached for the lubricant.

Index and middle finger loosely encased in rubber, Seifer smeared on a liberal amount of lube in addition to the already slicked coating of the condom. "Turn over," he directed, forcing calmness into his tone. He felt like pinning the brunet down and fucking the man senseless right then, but that would defeat the entire purpose of having sex a second time.

Squall waited until jade-green eyes finally looked at him to tacitly reaffirm the order. Holding the ex-knight's gaze for several moments, he eventually shifted onto his side and turned over. Lying prone, he hesitated before he took his actions a step further by raising himself onto his knees. Making certain his face was angled away, he wallowed in morbid embarrassment and berated his prude emotions. He wasn't a virgin. Sex was often awkward, the ends usually justifying the means, but he was prostrating himself before his rival as though he had no pride to speak of.

Cock twitching at the sight Leonhart presented, Seifer's expression darkened. "How daring," he mocked with cruel intent, knowing very well the pale swordsman's cheeks were scarlet. "Have you assumed this position often?"

Going rigid, Squall felt a wave of shame wash over him. Was it really necessary for the ex-knight to debase him in such a situation? As if his exposed and vulnerable position weren't embarrassing enough. Unwilling to succumb to such mockery quietly, he glared icily over his shoulder despite his cheeks being red. "How would you have me?" he bit out testily.

Swallowing thickly, Seifer fought to restrain himself. The level of effect Leonhart had on him led him to believe the seemingly oblivious man was intentionally provoking him. The icy glare in steely eyes set his blood on fire and the demure expression of obvious embarrassment held such sheer cuteness that his urge to defile the innocent fighter was nonpareil. Unable to express _how_ he would have his rival without a demonstration, he promptly pressed his fingers against the rosy anus exposed for his ministrations.

Jolting in surprise, Squall began to move away.

"Don't," Seifer ordered sternly, his other hand grabbing the bottle of lube. "It won't hurt," he said in assurance. He imagined Leonhart's body reacted instinctively, moving away to prevent any possible recurrences of their previous time together. His guilt over what he had done was nonexistent. Though remorse had a twenty-four hour time limit, he felt strangely compelled to assuage whatever doubts his rival was having.

Squall settled down, calming his racing heart and doubtful mind by grabbing the pillow and clutching it like some security blanket. He felt cold lubricant drizzled down the cleft of his buttocks. It was too foreign for his body to respond with acceptance. He forced himself to remain in place, bowing his head and biting his lip when he felt Seifer smear the lubricant messily over his entrance.

Dick throbbing, Seifer swallowed thickly and tried to sooth his raging libido with measured breaths. "Relax," he said deeply, and then warning, "I'm putting my fingers in." With his two fingers encased in the condom and slathered with clear lubricant, he gently nudged against Leonhart's puckered entrance. The rosy ring did not immediately give way and he was wary of how much force to use. Though he knew the closed hole had once expanded to fit the girth of his thick length, the blood involved had been a clear indication that the expansion had not been within normal limits.

"…" Biting his lip harshly, Squall resisted the urge to tear away. He wanted to tell the ex-knight to go slower, but the man was already doing going ridiculously slow for his sake. Having sex was much easier said than done.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Seifer debated how to proceed. He had a very general knowledge of what to do and he didn't know the exact amount of force necessary to insert his fingers or what toleration Leonhart's body had before actual pain registered. Glancing around, he glimpsed the doughty swordsman cringing in obvious anticipation of something unpleasant.

Shifting, Seifer assumed a more comfortable position and took his hand away from Leonhart's glistening entrance. Sitting with one leg bent and the other draped off the bed, he cleared his throat and informed, "I'll start with one finger." He busied himself with slipping the condom far enough off to remove his index finger, unable to do so without coating both hands in slick lubricant. The greater excess of material left the condom sagging in a manner that reminded him to keep focused, lest he lose it inside his rival's clamping channel.

Voicing his concerns despite his aversion to appearing afraid, Squall sought confirmation. "You'll go slow?" he intoned quietly.

"That's what I said," Seifer returned, as he set one hand on Leonhart's ass and warningly spread a shapely cheek. Swirling the tip of his middle finger around the puckered entrance, he again tried to nudge inside. It was easier with one finger, the tip of which slipped in with slick ease.

Tensing up, Squall tried to focus on something unrelated to the ex-knight's finger entering him.

"Relax," Seifer groused in annoyance. "It'll hurt if you don't relax."

Scowling, Squall muttered, "You try relaxing with someone's finger up your ass."

"Trust me Leonhart, my finger isn't even close to being up your ass. At this rate, my balls are going to remain permanently blue, so concentrate on relaxing."

Still scowling, Squall considered his predicament. The ex-knight had a point. Even if he didn't calm down, the man was going to enter him. Taking a deep breath, he focused his mind and soothed his concern with empty assurances that Seifer wouldn't hurt him like the last time. Exhaling, he hugged the pillow closer and settled against in such a way that his torso rested flush against the bed and his head was cradled comfortably.

Seifer stared at the back of the brunet's head, tangled locks of oak brown hair splayed against the same pillow he used each night. Eyes trailing along the man's posed body, he literally shivered with need. Licking his lips, he stated, "You're sexy like this."

Eyes widening, Squall stared off to the side, his surprised expression not seen by the ex-knight. Although there was obviously a great deal of attraction between them, he had not expected to hear any words germane to it. He would just as soon expect to have sweet-nothings whispered in his ear.

Seifer's eyes continued to rove his rival's prostrated form. He nudged his finger deeper, managing to insert it up to his second knuckle before meeting firm resistance. Pulling his finger out, but slid it back in and began to mimic the thrusting of what would eventually be his throbbing cock.

Taking another deep breath and releasing it, Squall tried to stay as relaxed as he possibly could under the circumstances. The ex-knight's ministrations caused him acute discomfort, but it was essentially painless.

Fighting the urge to fist his arousal, Seifer kept both hands busy. Gripping a smooth cheek with his left hand, he spread the cleft of Leonhart's buttocks wider and used his thumb to gently spread the clamping entrance that he worked the finger of his right hand in and out of. Pushing his finger a bit deeper than his second knuckle, he was distracted by how hot it was inside his rival's body. His twitching cock was begging to be buried inside such warmth, demanding that he ram his length in deep and let sporadically clamping muscles jerk him off without any effort on his part.

A strangled sound of pleasure erupted from Squall's mouth before he even had time to register that something had felt extremely good. Hand shooting to cover his mouth, he stared with wide eyes and wondered if the ex-knight had heard.

"Did I hit it?" Seifer questioned with a grin, wriggling his finger around until he felt the swordsman shudder again.

As his hand slipped from his mouth, Squall gasped silently. He knew what the ex-knight was stimulating and he was not unaccustomed to how good it could feel, but when it concerned his desires and responses to his childhood rival, nothing could be gauged by previous experiences. The pangs of pleasure rang through him so clearly that he forgot himself.

Seifer continued to slide his single digit in and out of his rival's anus, raking against where he placed the man's prostate gland to be.

Squall was torn between quieting himself and letting the ex-knight know he wanted more. Unable to decide when his thoughts were scattered, the hand that wanted to clamp his mouth shut remained lax, his fingers trailing across his bottom lip. Eyes scrunching shut as he fought for clarity, he eventually reached a breaking point. Gasping, his hips involuntarily rocked back to impale himself onto the lording blond's finger.

Faltering in his actions, Seifer forgot his own name until his rival spoke it.

"Seifer," Squall murmured, turning his head against the pillow. "I can take more," he informed suggestively. He had been pleasured in such a way before and knew to a limited degree that he could handle a couple more fingers.

Prone to jealous thoughts when it concerned Leonhart with other men, Seifer was immediately suspicious. He didn't know if it was the brunet's words or bodily response. "Who else have you let fuck you?" he questioned demandingly.

Squall didn't hear the ex-knight's question. He only felt the man's finger toying mercilessly with the bundle of nerves inside him. Unraveling completely, he continued to rock back and urge the breaching finger deeper. He had no contending scruples with expressing physical pleasure, but he was too prideful to accept how easily Seifer could reduce him to a blithering fool with no thoughts beyond sexual desires.

Eyes narrowing, Seifer ceased his actions. As he adjusted the condom to again include his index finger, he asked again, "How many other men have you let fuck you? How loose would your ass be without potions?"

"You're an idiot," Squall managed to say between panting breaths. His body quieted without the constant stimulation, but his stiff manhood sorely needed release.

"Answer the damn question," Seifer bit out angrily. Temper igniting, he shoved his fingers inside his rival without warning.

Grunting a note of surprised discomfort, Squall scowled and used the last few moments of coherent thought to cast a slew of curses at the ex-knight in his mind.

Thrusting his fingers in and out of his rival's clamping entrance, Seifer prompted impatiently, "Well?" He became enraged and furious when he pictured Leonhart sleeping with Bernhein and an array of other undeserving pricks.

"S-stop," Squall gasped out as the ex-knight's rough handling rushed him towards climax. "I'm going to… I'm coming… stop."

Demeanor darkening, Seifer increased the pace of his preparing thrusts. He slipped the thumb of his free hand inside and spread the rosy ring wider. He hadn't even touched Leonhart's cock and the man claimed to be close to ejaculating.

Wedging his arm beneath his awkwardly posed body, Squall reached between his legs and grasped the ex-knight's hand in a futile attempt to stop the man from making him orgasm. He wanted the pleasure sorely, but wasn't willing to let it happen so quickly.

Surging forward, Seifer reached around and grabbed the brunet's interfering hand. Squeezing a bony wrist brutally tight, he pulled the man's arm away. Pressing against his rival's form, he plunged his fingers in deep with a lubricated squelch and twisted them against the sweet spot that caused an ecstatic moan to fill the dark apartment.

With the weight of the ex-knight atop him and no reprieve from relentless and tormenting pleasure, Squall cried out in protest and ecstasy. Shuddering violently while bucking against penetrating fingers, he came in blind abandon.

"That was quick," Seifer hissed into the panting brunet's ear. "I bet you're used to getting screwed like a woman every night. Has this mourning period of yours left your body frustrated, or are you always this fast?"

Still experiencing consuming pleasure, Squall didn't process the ex-knight's words immediately. When his sated body calmed, he returned the antagonism. Bitter over what had just happened and the belligerent swordsman's insults, he muttered, "Who I sleep with has nothing to do with you."

"Doesn't it?" Seifer responded heatedly. Releasing the resistant fighter's wrist, he broke away. Casting away the condom that hindered his dexterity, he retrieved another packet from the small box. Using his teeth to tear the packet open when his slippery fingers wouldn't allow a decent grip, he extracted the flimsy rubber protection.

Spine aching, Squall shifted onto his side and lay motionless. His eyes drifted shut and his body began to feel heavy. He knew it would only take a minute for him to fall asleep and he was tempted to do so.

"It's not over," Seifer stated as he unrolled the condom down the shaft of his stiffly standing erection. It fit snuggly, the throbbing length engorged to a degree he rarely reached. His ego kept his actions in check. He would demonstrate greater control over his body than before, even if his dick remained in a perpetual state of arousal.

Squall stirred at the feel of calloused hands on his shoulders. Before he could protest, he was pulled flush against a muscular chest. A hand suddenly hooked behind his knee, pulling one of his legs to rest over the ex-knight's hip. He felt a hard rod press against his softened length and was distantly alarmed. Thinking the blond was about to enter him, he tensed instinctively.

With his rival so close, Seifer could not resist the urge to wrap his arms around the man and squeeze firmly, instilling a greater sense of how much smaller the contending fighter was. He set his back against the bed and pulled the smaller man atop him. With one arm keeping the stiff brunet in place, he let his other arm slip lower. His fingers slid against the cleft of Leonhart's tantalizing breech until he met the slightly stretched entrance.

Squall squirmed at the feel of the ex-knight's fingers entering him again. "What are you doing?" he questioned dubiously, trying to break away.

"Give me an answer. How many other men have you slept with?" Seifer reiterated the question that drove him mad with jealously. He could not let it go. He wanted to devise a hit list composed of all persons who had dared to touch his rival.

"Hyne," Squall said, moaning when the blond again toyed with his prostate gland. It wasn't fair. His body was a slave to Seifer's touch and his mind wasn't far behind.

Patience lost, Seifer added four fingers prematurely and pushed deeply. "Answer me," he ordered angrily.

Crying out it both pain and pleasure, Squall clutched the ex-knight for a purchasing hold. He huddled against a solid chest, his fingers digging into the man's ribs. "None," he hissed unwittingly. "Cale did this-" Before he could finish, a spearing hand assaulted him. Going rigid, he sunk his nails into tanned skin.

"Does your son know you're a whore?" Seifer badgered, on the brink of pinning the brunet and fucking the man as punishment.

"Stop," Squall hissed. He tried to push away but was in no position to defeat the broad framed fighter's crushing strength. Unable to break free of the contentious blond, he was left at the mercy of impaling fingers.

Keeping his hold tight, Seifer ignored the deceptively innocent man's protests.

"Please," Squall remonstrated, nails clawing the ex-knight's skin as the man split him ruthlessly. "I never had sex with him!"

"Lying to me in your position isn't very smart," Seifer chastised with an air of righteousness.

"You're the liar," Squall accused, trying once more to break away. Forgetting that any jolting movements on his part would only cause more pain to himself, he thrashed until he felt the ex-knight's hold slip. Unprepared for the splitting pain reminiscent of the last time Seifer had manhandled him, he cried out and stilled his escaping efforts.

The sound of Leonhart's cry cut through Seifer's jealously vindictive thoughts like a gunblade slicing nonresistant air. Cursing his loss of control, he ceased his invasive assault and gently removed his fingers from within his rival. Winding his arms around the smaller man's lithe frame, he reaffirmed his tight hold and refused to let go. Why was it so difficult to keep control? He had never been prone to jealousy that bordered on madness. He had never felt such consuming lust that he hurt the object of his desires. His behavior was infuriating.

Pressed close as the ex-knight hugged him, Squall contended with the notion that the man was possibly sorry.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," Seifer placated humbly, running the fingers of his relatively lubricant free left hand through the tangled locks of the former commander's hair.

Squall gave a subdued scoff. "I'm sure," he said wryly. Trying to move away, he managed to at least close his legs. "Let go," he demanded.

"No," Seifer said in outright refusal. Still stroking soft hair, he admitted, "I'm a jealous man and lying about never having sex with Bernhein only makes it worse."

"It's not a lie," Squall mumbled, wishing it had been. Glancing ruefully at the ex-knight, he found disbelief in green eyes. "It's also not your business," he added, his undertone laced with contempt. Holding the man's attention, he continued to stare at the blond's handsome face cast in shadow. "If this is how it is, stop using your hand and get it over with."

Sighing, Seifer conceded to let the matter of Leonhart in bed with other men go. Holding the brunet's head in place, he kissed soft lips. As he worked on eliciting a response, he caressed a smooth back. He traced the hollow curve of the other's spine, until the trail ended and his fingertips brushed over the abused entrance.

Responding warmly to the calmed ex-knight's gentle touch, Squall kissed the man back. A small part of him knew it wasn't fair, but he honestly didn't care enough to recant his decision to follow it through to the end. He had expected pain and saw little sense in rejecting the man for being too rough.

Slipping three fingers inside his rival and scissoring the somewhat loosened ring of muscle, Seifer questioned, "How's this?"

"Fine," Squall murmured against the short-tempered man's lips. Having known the bellicose blond for nearly all his life, he had seen a wide range of varying behavior from the egotistical and deceptively principled man. Over the past month, he had seen a startling new array of uncharacteristic actions. Previously, he had never seen Seifer's lustful and passionate side, nor had he ever glimpsed the extreme jealousy that was somehow spawned from the attraction between them. A gentle and concerned ex-knight was perhaps the most confounding to date, yet the man was kissing him softly while considerately preparing him with time consuming slowness.

"Only fine? That's disappointing," Seifer said in a voice laden with need.

Leg moving of its own accord, Squall hooked his knee over the fondling ex-knight's finely cut hip. The persistent man was again toying with him in the most devilish of ways. "Again?" he questioned in a near gasp.

"How's this?" Seifer reiterated with a smirk of superiority.

Squall rocked back and forth, his hardening length having a firm body to rub against while fingers inserted from behind beckoned his hips to move in another direction. "I already…" he began, stopping short when he ceased to care anymore. He had already climaxed once while his aroused partner remained completely unsatisfied. There was a blatant disconnect between what should have been happening and what was actually happening, but his mind was blissfully unaware.

"You started out with such resignation," Seifer commented. As his rival came undone in his arms, he realized the situation was far less amusing than he originally ordained it to be. Leonhart managed to rub against him just right, threatening to bring a premature end.

Oblivious to the fact that he was being made fun of, Squall frantically sought to be kissed. Managing to free on of his arms, bound as consequence of the teasing man's embracing hold, he reached up and grasped the back of the Seifer's neck. Pulling the roguishly handsome and cruelly influential swordsman's head closer, he met smirking lips greedily. Previously ambivalent to the act of kissing, often adverse to the pointless pecks given as a greeting or parting, he could not be sated when it concerned kissing his childhood rival.

Groaning, Seifer answered the brunet's fervor with a flood of his own pent up lust. Crushing inviting lips, his tongue danced almost violently with Leonhart's.

In Squall's mind and body, the numb chill that had rooted itself deep vanished without a trace. The ex-knight swallowed his muffled pants, a slick tongue roving his mouth and consuming every involuntary noise he made. The heat between their two bodies was intense, as friction and carnal lust sent temperatures to a dizzyingly high degree.

Distantly aware that his partner was distracted enough not to notice an additional finger, Seifer's mind wasn't collected enough to actually make a conscious judgment. Nonetheless, he slipped one last finger inside his rival, his large hand slowly pushing in to his palm.

Squall ended the wet exchange, a thin trail of saliva connecting their mouths briefly. Casting his head back, he sunk his teeth into his bottom lip in an attempt not to moan exultingly as he came for the second time that night. Successful in quieting his urge to cry out, he rocked hard against the rivaling swordsman's fingers. At the feel of teeth sinking into his collar, he climaxed blindly with his eyes scrunched shut and his fingers digging into the ex-knight's shoulder.

Tightening his hold, Seifer kept his rival pressed close. As though the experience were vicarious, he needed to feel every shudder that wracked the pale fighter's body. His lips trailed from the enticing curve of Leonhart's collar to a slender neck. The rapidly beating pulse was distinct against his lips, which left him with no option but to suck at that exact spot as though a vampire trying to feed on blood.

Squall arching back, his whole body taut as a finely strung wire. He convulsed in orgasmic abandon while his rival's firm hold kept him grounded in reality. When it was over, he lay limply in Seifer's arms, panting to catch his breath. With one leg cast over the man's hips, their bodies were practically entwined. He could still feel the man's salient erection pressed firmly against his abdomen.

Seifer studied his rival for several long minutes. When it seemed as though Leonhart had fallen asleep, he jostled the man until dilated grey-blue eyes peered wearily at him. "It's not over," he informed huskily. Reminding the sated brunet of the exact circumstances, he wriggled his fingers until the forgetful creature jolted in surprise. Amused, he chuckled lightly.

Complacent in his tired and fulfilled state, Squall gave no protest when the ex-knight directed him back against the bed. On his back, he stared with mild interest as his unsatisfied partner prepared to enter him. Though he would have believed it impossible, when the man drizzled more clear lubricant out of the bottle and smeared it against his entrance, warmth gathered in his loins once again.

Cautious, though terribly impatient in his need, Seifer slipped his fingers past the rosy little hole he intended to insert his cock in. He waited long enough for Leonhart's softened length to spring to life. He smirked while pointing out, "Either you get hard at the drop of a hat or you've been seriously frustrated."

Squall sent a withering glare, but he couldn't muster any resentment when he was too tired for it.

Seifer grasped the backs of his rival's knees, spreading lean legs wider. More than a little proud at his ability to control his rash desires, he basked in the precedent moment. Holding out had been no small feat and the pale figure lying before him was his prize. Without further ado, he hitched Leonhart's legs up.

Squall's breathing hitched. Remnants of fearful anticipation lingered in the back of his mind. As if to prove he wasn't afraid, he reached out and grasped the ex-knight's throbbing manhood. Glancing up into fiercely emblazoned green eyes, he waited until the man understood his intent.

Gulping, Seifer moved his hips closer. Leonhart's delicate hand guided his length, aiding as the tip of his weeping erection nudged inside the man. After pushing in with minor resistance, he waited. "Does it hurt?" he questioned tersely, fighting the urge to thrust deeper.

Shaking his head, Squall muttered, "Don't hold back." He kept his hand gripping the base of the blond's erection. He could feel the man filling him and knew that was quite a bit left that would fill him to the brink. He felt dizzy from the heat. It was unbearably hot and his temperature kept rising.

Letting out a gruff sigh of satisfaction, Seifer pushed deeper. Leonhart's body was so hot, the gripping channel inviting him as though his cock belonged there. "Sweet Hyne," he hissed, giving a tentative thrust and burying himself nearly to the hilt.

Squall arched back against the bed. How could it possibly feel so good? It was illogical. Every bit of pain he had felt the last time Seifer had entered him was paralleled at the opposite end of the spectrum. Pleasure coursed through his entire body and the ex-knight wasn't even moving.

"Leonhart?" Seifer called questioningly. He couldn't tell if the man was in pain or not. Regardless of how his tolerant partner faired, he knew he wouldn't be able to hold out any longer.

Squall shook his head from side to side, his hair whipping the pillow softly. He gasped for air, fearing he might start hyperventilating if the ex-knight didn't do something. "Good," he said, knowing distantly that he hadn't given the most comprehendible explanation. "So good," he tried in elaboration, his speech limited when his mind couldn't form words.

Surging forward, Seifer cast Leonhart's legs over his shoulders and hovered above the man with his arms propped on either side of the panting beauty. Without any uncharacteristic scruples regarding mutual pleasure, he pulled out and thrust back in.

Attempting to hold back an embarrassing moan, Squall could not abstain from the involuntary reaction when the ex-knight slammed into him repeatedly. Thrashing beneath the man, his hands fisted the comforter beneath him. Each succinct thrust sent such pleasure and ecstasy through him that he became disoriented to his surroundings.

Sweat beading at his temple, Seifer speared his rival without restraint. His cock had never been so grateful, finally given exactly what it had been begging for. Despite his efforts in loosening Leonhart's virgin tight ass, the warmth he sank into gripped his throbbing length like a vice. Somehow, the experience was incomparable to the last time. There simply was no comparison. The willingness and pleasure written on Leonhart's face made the experience truly fulfilling. The vast difference seemed to mock how pathetic the pleasure from his practical rape had been.

Hands moving of their own accord, Squall released the blanket and sought to touch warm flesh. Gripping his weeping erection, he pleasured himself in rhythm with the ex-knight's unrelenting thrusts. His other hand trailed along a muscular chest, ghosting lower until he felt toned abs flexing repeatedly. Unexpectedly, he was abruptly pushed back into the mattress when Seifer thrust harder and faster. His hand shot to his mouth as he cried out from the sheer ecstasy such actions brought him.

In the dark apartment, the sound of panting breaths and the creaking bed were constant. Intermittent groans and pleasured cries sounded frequently, serving to drown out the steady rhythm of stressed bedsprings. From a distance, the shadowed figures of two bodies rocking together could not be distinguished as individuals. There was no separating one figure from the other, joined as they were and moving together with the same goal for base pleasure.

Seifer climaxed all too soon, his thick length jerking as he continued to thrust. Pleasure paramount, he didn't register that his rival had also come until the man's taut body started clamping tightly around his spurting organ. He had felt the same clamping reaction around his fingers and hadn't imagined how good it would feel around his sensitive cock. He groaned, giving a final few thrusts and finally finishing after burying himself as deeply as possible.

Catching his breath, Squall opened his eyes slowly at the feel of his rival pulling out. He was a mess. He had come three times, his own semen smeared across his stomach and the bedding beneath him. Seifer had cautiously used at least half the twelve-ounce bottle of lubricant, which left him covered with the stuff both inside and out.

Grinning foolishly, Seifer removed the used condom from his flaccid penis. He was sweaty and an overall mess after the somewhat chaotic events. His body was suddenly susceptible to the conditioned air of his apartment; the coolness drying his skin and lowering the temperature of heated muscles. Slipping from the bed, he gathered all condoms and the bottle of lube. Looking down at the brunet, he knew the man was in no state to take a shower. "I'll get a washcloth," he muttered before stalking away.

Sighing heavily, Squall lay motionless on his back. Despite the unexpected pleasure of it all, he had at least foreseen how worn out his body would feel. He knew he would be able to sleep, so deeply that he wouldn't dream or stir at the sound of the bedcovers rubbing together.

Seifer hastily returned with an unconscious spring in his step. Hopelessly optimistic, he carried a moist washcloth in one hand and another condom in the other. In the two minutes he had been away, the notion of having more sex had settled firmly in his lust-crazed mind. He halted at the edge of the bed, sighing in disappointment at the sight of Leonhart sleeping.

Sensing the ex-knight's presence, Squall opened his eyes. Extending an arm up, he gestured for the washcloth.

Frowning, Seifer debated the evils of screwing his rival until the sleep deprived man passed out. Wanting more sex while the toe curling feeling was a fresh memory, he handed off the condom instead of the cloth. Kneeling on the mattress, he lorded over the dirtied fighter while staring ardently into stormy blue eyes.

Confused, Squall's brain managed to process the meaning behind receiving a condom. Before he could roll his eyes, feverous lips were on his own.

"Are you strong enough for more?" Seifer questioned huskily, choosing his words wisely.

Throwing a halfhearted glare, Squall muttered, "I have to leave by five."

Brows knitting in confusion, Seifer pointed out, "That only gives us an hour."

Rolling his eyes, Squall corrected, "That gives me an hour to sleep."

"Come on Leonhart," Seifer cajoled, leaning closer and trailing his lips over a pale neck. "Call home when we're finished, sleep here 'til noon afterwards."

Wincing in surprise as the ex-knight bit him at the juncture between neck and shoulder, Squall conceded, "Once more. If I fall asleep after, wake me up. I have to leave by five."

Pulling back with a disapproving frown and narrowed eyes, Seifer questioned, "Didn't you come here to sleep?"

"Too late," Squall supplied in short answer.

Shaking his head, Seifer muttered, "You snuck out to see me and now you want to sneak back in like this never happened."

Saving the procrastinating blond the time and trouble, Squall tore open the condom packet. "The clock's ticking. When I leave here, I don't want to see you again."

Taken aback, Seifer didn't quite understand why he felt hurt. From the very beginning, the arrangement had been for them to sleep together once more and then never bothered one another again. Why did he want so much more than the remaining hour?

Staring at the ex-knight, Squall waited for an answer. When the man snatched the condom from his hand and pulled the rubber out, he knew how the remainder of their time would go. If he could manage to drive home afterwards without falling asleep at the wheel, he'd crash in his own bed.

Struck by a brilliant idea, Seifer formulated an underhanded plan. Leonhart was in no shape for marathon sex, which left him in the perfect position to wear the man down until pretty grey-blue eyes couldn't stay open and he was left with a living bolster for as long as the swordsman's exhausted body necessitated sleep. Spirits lifting, he claimed soft lips while once again fondling the lithe body beneath him. It was going to be a very physically draining hour, even if an unsuspecting Leonhart didn't know it yet.

TBC…

Author's note: -- the sex scene dragged on a lot. Whether or not it would have been better if it were shorter (or just less repetitive) is debatable. I definitely wanted it to be long since it was the first _real _time Seifer and Squall finally slept with each other, but it might have been overkill. Anyway, I hope it was still enjoyable. Fall semester started and I have enough English classes to keep me busy with a never-ending list of reading material. I will try to update sooner, but I can't make any promises. Thank you for all the reviews on the last chapter.


	32. Chapter 32

Defining Love

Chapter Thirty-Two

Seifer breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of his rival's hair. A lazy grin spread across his face as he was reminded of the sun. He had smelled Leonhart's bedding like a bloodhound and not known what the ensnaring scent had been, but he now likened it to how the sun gave laundry a very distinct fragrance. Finally able to place it, he felt a strange sense of victory for the insignificant accomplishment.

Opening his eyes, Seifer took another deep breath and sighed. His body was stiff. Though he wanted to stretch languidly, he didn't move a muscle. Leonhart was comfortably furled against him, tucked closely to his side while his pillowing arm kept any distance from forming between their bodies.

Reaching his free arm behind his head, he groped beneath the single pillow until he found his wristwatch. He was surprised it hadn't lodged itself between the mattress and the wall after the disturbance he and Leonhart had given the bed. Glancing at the watch face, he was surprised to see it was past nine o'clock. It was already fairly late in the morning and he had slept for less than four hours. He could feel it in his body. Four hours wasn't enough sleep, especially after his vigorous workout.

Content to lie in bed for another five hours or even five days, Seifer shifted about gingerly and settled in deeper beneath the blanket. He watched his rival, studying the attractive swordsman's sleeping face. He wanted to find a ruler and measure the length of dark lashes, he wanted to watch as the color of health was restored to pale skin, and he wanted to trace pout lips until his fingers knew the soft flesh as well as his own lips and tongue knew it.

He wondered if the brunet were dreaming and if he were playing any parts in it. It was strangely satisfying to think he might occupy Leonhart's sleeping thoughts. He had always enjoyed the limelight.

His plan to laze in bed was ruined when his cell phone began to ring. The sound seemed to intentionally disturb the peaceful silence. Fearing the noise might be enough to wake Leonhart, he cursed mentally before extracting himself with greater delicacy than a man his size was generally capable of. Standing slowly from the bed, he strode with quietly angry footsteps toward the stack of boxes his phone was set atop. Casting a furtive glance back to the sleeping brunet, he decided to take the call in the bathroom.

Once he closed the bathroom door, Seifer answered the phone. He groused, "What the fuck do you want?" He was seemingly unaware of the fact that he had no clothes on.

"I want my dad," Lore stated hotly. "I know he's there, so put him on."

"I don't recall having such a demanding son," Seifer muttered disdainfully. He moved toward the mirror above the white pedestal sink. Grabbing the side of the mirror, he pulled it open on its hinges and revealed a neatly stocked cabinet.

"And I don't recall having such bastard as a sperm donor," Lore shot back angrily.

Laughing dryly, Seifer just shook his head. "He's sleeping, kid. I'm not willing to wake him up, but you're welcome to come over and disturb what's probably the first decent sleep he's had in a long time." He shuffled through various sundry items, from shaving cream and toothpaste to flavored condoms and aspirin. At length, he procured a single potion that had been lying on its side and hiding from view behind a row of bottles.

"Where do you live?" Lore asked. In retrospect, finding out where Seifer lived from the man himself was probably the most troublesome way to obtain the address.

Closing the cabinet with a gentle thud, Seifer glanced down at the potion in hand. He only had the one. Though he was tempted to down the tasteless contents of the corked vial, he didn't. "Glishter Avenue in the thirty-second district. It's one of the oldest damn buildings in this city, you can't miss it."

"Is he really with you?" Lore questioned warily. He had actually received a straight answer. He couldn't trust a straight answer from someone who found sadistic amusement in stringing people along.

"Bring a couple potions with you," Seifer instructed authoritatively. Inviting the kid over was asking for trouble, but he had come to the conclusion that Leonhart would probably try to kill him for his stunt. If the boy were nearby, he could rely upon Leonhart's sense of fatherly duty to not commit murder in front of the son.

With worry in his voice, Lore questioned, "Potions? What are the potions for?"

Running a hand over his face, Seifer stared at himself in the mirror for several long moments. The reflected image didn't look right. There was something off about it, something in his eyes that burned too brightly. Sighing, he hung his head and answered the worried brat on the other end of the phone. "He came to me last night," he explained, wanting badly to flaunt the fact that he had passionate sex to the point of exhaustion. The kid would be outraged and the amusement would be worth the trouble. Instead, he heard himself lie. "We drove out to my training center and sparred until five in the morning. He couldn't walk straight by the time we were done, so he crashed here."

"He's really sleeping?" Lore questioned doubtfully, not knowing what to believe and not knowing what to doubt. Resorting to a spar to relieve frustration seemed characteristic of his father, even when done in the middle of the night.

The chill of Seifer's nude state set in. He wanted to return to bed. He also wanted more time with his rival. There was a nagging voice in the back of his head that reminded him how exhausted Leonhart was. The dark circles beneath the thick fringe of lashes on closed eyes obviously indicated that the swordsman needed more sleep. "He won't be if you show up, so hold off on your little rescue mission until this afternoon."

Incredulous, Lore challenged, "Why should I?"

Grumbling his annoyance, Seifer pointed out, "So he can rest you half-wit." Eyes widening, he bowed his head in shame. There were no personal benefits in buying Leonhart time to rest. That could only mean he was acting on the interests of someone else. Selfishness was his mode of operations, but his scrupulous behavior was beginning to border on selfless and caring. He felt diseased. Lust and attraction weren't the only inane feelings he felt towards Leonhart. Something else had burrowed inside him and taken root. He knew it needed to be cut out and the tainted parts of him cast aside before it became any worse. Leonhart must have known it too, because the former commander had resolved never to meet again. Logically, the only way to stop such unwanted emotions was to become isolated from the catalyst. Nonetheless, he could not force himself to take any action beyond wrapping up his conversation and returning to bed.

Lore was suddenly at an impasse. Believing in the ex-knight was too great a leap of faith that went against all common sense and his observations of past behavior. On the other hand, the scenario the arrogant man had described seemed feasible and meant his father was currently resting.

"Disturb him or don't, what the hell do I care?" Seifer hissed agitatedly.

"Have him call," Lore interjected.

About to hang up, Seifer ground out, "What?"

Forced to make a quick decision, Lore didn't quite understand why his default position was to do as the ex-knight suggested. "When he wakes up, have him call me."

"What's the magic word?" Seifer goaded, desperate to redeem his status as a ruthless jerk.

"Please," Lore spat grudgingly.

Seifer chuckled, not quite satisfied by the amount of badgering he had achieved, but willing to take what he could.

"Asshole."

Clucking his tongue, Seifer admonished, "Little boys shouldn't use such language. Did you pick that up from me or your saintly father?"

"Fuck off, you prick," Lore hissed vehemently, choosing his words out of spite.

Chuckling darkly, Seifer hung up.

With prospects more alluring than analyzing his actions, Seifer set his phone down on top of the sink and left the bathroom. Returning to the comfort of his own bed, he found that his presence wasn't the least bit missed. Leonhart was sprawled across his former spot, none the wiser to his absence. Scoffing quietly, he slipped beneath the blanket and was immediately greeted by welcoming warmth.

After a small amount of coaxing, Seifer managed to reclaim his place and draw his rival against his chest. He was wide-awake. There was no valid reason for him to laze in bed. The strict heterosexual inside him pointed out that there was dried semen on the bedding and he could feel every inch of the sleeping swordsman's body. His weakness revealed itself when he decided not to think about how wrong it was. If he thought too much, he might persuade himself to break away from bed and person completely.

Seifer's breath hitched when Leonhart stirred. The androgynous creature inhaled a sharp and quiet breath before squirming about to burrow beneath the blanket. He shivered in response to the warm body that rubbed against his side.

When the brunet continued to shift like a languid animal unaware of anything around it, Seifer felt his sore manhood stir to life. His thoughts began to focus on how oblivious and vulnerable Leonhart was, entirely exposed and defenseless in his arms. It was laughable to think his rival placed such trust in him, but he supposed he hadn't given the exhausted fighter a chance to escape.

Not wanting to sport an erection for the next few hours, Seifer willed his insatiable libido to calm down.

--

Sitting on the edge of his father's vacant and cold bed, Lore lowered his cell phone after Seifer hung up on him. He wore his school uniform, khakis and a white dress shirt. His red and gold striped tie hung limply around the collar of his shirt, sadly untied without the helping hand of his father. Gritting his teeth, he contended with hotheaded impatience. He wanted things to be normal again.

Lore cast his phone aside and gave a heavy sigh. Gallantly charging to the ex-knight's apartment was a flawed course of action if the end result only disturbed his father. His chest hurt at the thought of his father turning to Seifer for comfort. Apparently, he wasn't enough. If it was comfort through fighting then he could understand why Seifer was better suited for the job, but he wasn't entirely convinced that was the case.

Striding in through the open bedroom door, Irvine approached his nephew. Fresh from a shower, long auburn hair hung damply. Dressed casually, he wore blue jeans and his violet dress shirt was not tucked in or buttoned all the way up. "Your aunts are visiting this afternoon," he announced.

Lore looked up at his uncle. Deciding to miss another day of school, he grasped one end of his dangling tie and pulled the accessory off. "Who else besides Aunt Selphie is coming?" he questioned in a morbidly monotonous tone.

Taking a seat beside the raven haired youth, Irvine informed, "Your aunt Ellone and aunt Rinoa."

Blue-green eyes widening, Lore remarked, "Since when have they been coming?"

Shrugging, Irvine stated, "Since they called five minutes ago and said they would arrive around one o'clock."

Lore didn't know what motivated such a short notice visit. He supposed the news of Cale's death and his father's relationship with the man had spread throughout the grapevine. It still seemed a bit strange to him.

Adjusting the cuff of his shirt, Irvine admitted, "I might have let it slip to your aunt Selphie that Squall's been in a depressed rut."

"It's natural isn't it?" Lore defended, knowing his father would hate the idea of everyone gathering to try and cheer him up.

Irvine ran a hand through his unbound hair, smoothing out a few tangles. "For most people it is normal. Your dad isn't most people and the circumstances are unique."

Falling back against the soft mattress, Lore groaned. "Isn't there anything we can do besides wait?" he complained, his words were laced with anguished frustration.

"The best thing we can do is be as patient and understanding as we can," Irvine advised solemnly. "Guilt is difficult to deal with, especially for an honor bound commander."

"But he's not guilty of anything. He didn't pull the trigger," Lore pointed out. Turning his head to the side, he looked at his uncle, seeing only the man's backside. The gunman's shoulders sagged heavily and he imagined there was a heavy weight pressing down on the man. He wasn't the only one feeling frustrated.

Empathetic to how the former commander felt, Irvine explained, "In his mind, he should have prevented anyone from pulling the trigger. Cale was a civilian, whereas your dad has had years of training and experience in handling those situations. We all make mistakes and your dad didn't think Luca was going to shoot."

"No one can read minds," Lore muttered. "He couldn't have known what was going through that crazy guy's head."

Irvine glanced down at his nephew. "With the training he's had, he can read enough from expressions and postures to know whether someone intends to kill." Rubbing a hand to the side of his cleanly shaven face, he reflected on the situation. "I know your frustrated. I am too, but we can't make him believe it wasn't his fault unless he sees it that way first. He'll come around when he finally realizes going over it in his head won't change what happened. He will be fine, he just needs time."

"I just think we should be able to do something," Lore said bitterly.

"We can," Irvine assured. "We can be here for him, even if he doesn't know it."

Rolling his eyes, Lore muttered contemptuously, "Yeah, well it doesn't seem fair that our job is to stay put while someone like Seifer makes things all better."

Hanging his head, Irvine hunched forward with his arms propped on his knees. "He went to Seifer, didn't he?" he murmured in a tone that suggested he wanted to be refuted.

"Yeah," Lore answered, knowing his uncle felt exactly as he did. "Seifer said they fought until Dad exhausted himself and now he's sleeping."

Forcing a false smile, Irvine gently slapped his nephew's knee and declared, "That's good news."

"How so?" Lore muttered wryly.

"It means he's trying to act out some pent up feelings and now he's resting." Contrary to his projected feelings, Irvine felt a burning jealousy. His relationship with Squall was far from platonic, but his jealousy had nothing to do with the ex-knight's accusations of suppressed love or desire. He loved Squall strictly as a friend. There was nothing impure about his feelings towards the former commander. He was jealous that Seifer was the person his close friend ran to in times of distress. Knowing that Squall wasn't aware of the depth of concern he felt, he could not blame the emotionally stunted man. There was some sort of logic behind Seifer's source of relief for Squall, even if he couldn't understand it.

"Seifer said to let Dad rest," Lore mumbled thoughtfully. "Strange, isn't it? I mean, it almost sounded like he was being considerate." He was confused. Seifer Almasy had grated on his nerves the wrong way since the first time they met over a month ago. He couldn't fathom how his father hadn't killed the man after growing up together or why his father tolerated someone so irritatingly outspoken.

Pensively silent, Irvine let his eyes roam the richly furnished room. A cream colored carpet and maroon colored walls couldn't have made Squall feel at home. Warm colors didn't suit the so-called ice prince and he had a hard time imagining the brunet in such a bedroom.

"I'm worried about him. Do you think I should go over there?"

Not answering right away, Irvine thought about it carefully. "Squall's an adult. I'll call him in a bit to tell him about our guests, but I don't think we should interfere."

Lore frowned, but nodded in acceptance.

--

Senses awakening, Squall listened while his drifting mind partitioned a part of his brain to wake up and determine whether he should continue sleeping or not. There were no sounds out of the ordinary, but a strange feeling of disillusionment drew him from his unconscious state. Sleepy eyes reluctantly opened, only to fall shut again in petulant demand for more sleep. Succumbing to his body's wishes, he chose to settle in and fall back asleep. He started to turn over, merely wanting to sink deeper beneath the blanket. He met with resistance. There was a solid mass against his back, the warmth of another body pressed close. He opened his eyes again, forcing them to stay open as he tried to sit up.

Filled with trepidation and disappointment, Seifer recognized that his peaceful time with Leonhart had finally come to an end. Loosening his hold, he let the swordsman escape.

Body aching, Squall winced as throbbing pangs of soreness radiated from his lower extremities. It wasn't unbearable, but he would seek a potion for it. Glancing around furtively in confusion, he was having difficulty waking up completely. Such uncooperative behavior from his lethargic body made it nearly impossible to focus his mind. Eventually he understood where he was, how he had gotten there, and why there was such acute discomfort in his buttocks. What he couldn't piece together was why it was so late and why he hadn't returned home.

Seifer watched intently, enraptured as the epicene fighter glanced around in confusion. Pretty grey-blue eyes looked on the verge of tears and he imagined it was because the vulnerable brunet was extremely flustered. He was moved to speak. "It's okay, Leonhart," he assured. His greater sense of reason knew teary eyes were simply tired, but that explanation was hardly entertaining.

Startled, Squall's eyes widened and he looked to Seifer as though he had forgotten the ex-knight was even there.

Sitting up and meeting his rival evenly, Seifer informed, "That brat of yours called. He knew you were here-" Before he could finished explaining the situation, he found himself grappling to keep Leonhart from leaving. Considering the brunet could barely keep reddened eyes open, the man was surprisingly agile and quick to leap from bed at the mention of the dark haired boy.

"Seifer," Squall hissed in a strained voice, the name grating in his throat as his vocal cords reminded him he had overdone it earlier.

"Settle down," Seifer ordered, dragging his naked rival close. "He thinks you came for a fight."

The ex-knight's words didn't seep in right away and it took Squall a moment before he stopped trying to break free. Going still, he met jade-green eyes and waited.

"I told him we sparred all night, so he thinks you're sleeping it off here."

"…" Blinking burning eyes, Squall stared. At length he gave a single nod of understanding. It was a lie he wanted to believe. He imagined he had shown up at the ex-knight's door, Lionheart holstered at his hip. Phantasms of events that had never actually taken place filled his head and he saw his fight with Seifer. He could not be fooled though. Knowing the truth, his mind swam with factual images that were far more vivid. He envisioned his body joined with Seifer's in heated ecstasy as they fucked like animals in heat. Shameful as it was, he could still feel a lingering and throbbing heat in the pit of his stomach.

Seifer stared steadily into his rival's eyes, witness to the cogs moving. Pure, unadulterated emotion flashed in the depths of mesmerizing grey-blue orbs. As though he could relive the blissful moments of orgasm all over, his mind brought forth each instance he had buried himself deeply inside the fighter's lithe body and blindly climaxed.

"Stop," Squall ordered.

A lewd smirk tugged Seifer's lips upwards. "Stop what?" he questioned innocently, continuing to stare at his rival with penetrating eyes.

Glaring icily, Squall muttered, "Stop violating me with your eyes."

Seifer laughed richly, a deep rumble that came from his chest and lit his face with amusement. Reaching out, he set his hand on a pale shoulder, greedy fingers sliding intimately along until he cupped the back of a delicate neck. "Can you blame me?" he queried. Raking his eyes over the brunet's bared form, his smirk widened. "It's hard to ignore the evidence."

Confused, Squall followed the ex-knight's line of sight. His chest held numerous marks, the skin rouged from being sucked on by the relentless blond swordsman. He knew his neck and collar were in worse states. If he concentrated, he could feel a faint throb of soreness along his neck, where Seifer had nipped and sucked hard enough to bruise.

Drawn like a bee to a pollinating flower, Seifer slid his fingers into tangled tresses. Gripping Leonhart's silky hair, he leaned in and kissed the bleary eyed man. A shiver of delight ran through him when his actions weren't met with resistance.

The more kisses they shared, the harder it became to reason against it. After losing count, what was one more?

Lips parting, Squall sighed. The notion of leaving slipped from his dazed mind as a slick tongue invaded his mouth.

Seifer delved deeper, sensing what his rival wanted. He swallowed a quiet simper and tightened his hold on tangled hair. Leonhart responded with tantalizing sounds when his tongue was practically down a slender throat.

Eyes shut tightly, Squall was sent reeling while the ex-knight consumed him. He felt weightless and didn't even notice that he was falling backwards until he landed against the soft bed with the firm weight of the larger man on top of him.

Just as Seifer set his hands on his rival's warm body, his cell phone rang in the distance. Cursing his lack of foresight in leaving the device on, he ignored the obnoxiously loud tune in the hopes that the caller would give up. Binding Leonhart's wrists, he pinned them above the brunet's head to affirm his domineering position. This minor subjugation stroked his ego and gave him a small thrill.

When the ringing persisted, Seifer growled a note of frustration before leaving luscious lips in order to determine who he would have to slaughter for calling.

Squall lay panting for a moment, his senses slowly returning. He wiped slick lips with the back of his hand and sat up. As quickly as the ex-knight had departed, the man returned. He cast a baleful glance up at the towering blond. Seifer had purposely foiled his plan to sneak home.

Scowling fiercely, Seifer grumbled, "He's awake." He tossed his cell phone to the bed.

Blinking heavily, Squall groped for the cell phone among the amassed wrinkles in the bedding. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the ex-knight's walk away. Taking a deep breath, he raised the phone to his ear. "I'm here," he informed, wincing at the sound of his voice.

"You sound awful," Irvine's voice drawled smoothly.

Squall intoned a sound of agreement, "Hmn."

"I won't ask if you were really up all night fighting, because I know whatever you were up to, it was something you needed."

Scoffing mentally, Squall inwardly laughed at the idea of needing to have sex with Seifer for any reason. His will was weak, decaying steadily with each intoxicating kiss and rough caress. Sleeping with the ex-knight had been a mistake. The ludicrous sex agreement had only been an excuse for him to break down and forget about Cale through physical pleasure. There was still no guarantee that they wouldn't meet again or screw each other against the nearest wall with all of Esthar as witness. Now that the deal was completed and his excuses nonexistent, there was a terrible understanding that nothing would ever feel as good as their time in bed together.

Irvine cleared his throat. He was uncertain how to take Squall's silence. "The cavalry is on its way. I wanted to warn you so you had time to prepare."

Brows furrowing, Squall scowled. "Who?" he questioned as trepidation filled him.

"Rinoa and Ellone are coming around one. My better half should be here any minute."

Squall groaned as he lowered his head and covered his eyes with his free hand. "What do they know?" he inquired despondently.

"Not much," Irvine assured. "They know you and Cale were friends. I think only Selphie knows you were dating."

Squall stared at the dark brick color of the comforter, recognizing it better than the bedding in Laguna's home away from home. "I slept with Seifer," he heard himself murmur without thinking. His eyes widened when the words replayed in his ears. "You know the truth because you know me. Lore probably knows too."

There was a long pause, a heavy silence filling the vacant void between them. At length, Irvine replied, "Lore wants to believe you were sparring. He wants to believe in you, but you're making it hard for him. If you look him in the eye and explain that something is going on that you don't understand, he'd have a hell of a lot less to worry about than thinking you simply don't trust him enough to confide in him. I don't think he hates Seifer so much as he thinks he's supposed to hate him. It's not like he'd approve of anyone who wants to get in your pants, so why keep that asshole such a special secret?"

Running a hand through wayward hair, Squall smiled softly while no one could see. "You know me better than I do," he whispered.

"On this alone," Irvine agreed firmly.

With a greater sense of clarity, Squall decided to seek the gunman's advice instead of shouldering his confusion and guilt alone. "We'll talk later," he said. Unexpected eagerness grew inside him. When he returned, he would explain everything concerning the sordid affair with Seifer. He had sought his friend's council in the beginning, but walked alone the moment he became ashamed of himself. It was foolish to think that lying would preserve the respect in their relationship.

"Much later if Rinoa and Ellone have anything to say about it," Irvine warned.

"…" Squall was suddenly given reason to lie back down and never stray from the ex-knight's bed.

"I don't like your being with him, even for a moment. Please, come back sooner rather than later," Irvine requested.

"One hour," Squall replied succinctly.

"I'm setting my watch," Irvine informed, chuckling to prove he was only half serious about the time constraint. "If you insist on feeling responsible for Cale's death, then please don't also think you need to be guilty for sleeping with some prick to forget about it. I would rather that you had gotten drunk off your ass, but sex numbs pain just as effectively."

"…" Squall didn't respond.

"An hour then," Irvine said in parting.

Lowering the cell phone, Squall ended the call and let the device fall to the bed. Head still bowed, he did not see Seifer standing nearby.

"Only an hour, huh? Doesn't that sound familiar?" Seifer commented in a clip tone. He recalled the last time he only had an hour left with Leonhart, but it was somehow far less exciting than it had been before. There was a sense of closure and encroaching ends. The strange feeling in his chest felt vaguely like fear, but he knew he couldn't be afraid of never seeing his rival again. Ten years ago he had gone to live in Fisherman's Horizon where pretty-boy swordsmen didn't exist.

Head snapping up, Squall glared icily. Though he wasn't in any position to argue, he defied the ex-knight to coerce him into screwing for the next hour. He didn't have time for games. He needed a shower and a potion to erase all evidence of their time together.

With an uncharacteristically solemn expression, Seifer gazed downward out of the slits of his eyes. Lips set in a stern frown, he reflected thoughtfully on how to spend his time. He needed to cut the ties between them cleanly, leaving no frayed ends to snag and unravel. At the same time, he wanted to take the pale fighter into his arms and sully that enticing body until hours turned into days.

"May I use your shower?" Squall requested quietly and with an undertone of estranged politeness. "And borrow a potion?" he added as an afterthought.

Continuing to stare, Seifer didn't respond immediately. "Borrow?" he eventually questioned with a sardonic quirk of his eyebrow.

Pout lips forming a faint frown, Squall gazed tensely and waited for some greater understanding to dawn on him. He couldn't read the emotions revealed in jade-green eyes. He didn't know what the blond was thinking.

"If you borrow something, that implies you'll return it," Seifer lectured. "Does that mean you intend to see me again?"

"I didn't mean-"

Seifer cut the obstinately resistant man off. "No, you didn't mean anything, did you? None of this meant anything to you."

Incredulous, Squall pointed out, "None of it meant anything to you either."

"What if it did?" Seifer proposed without thinking. He stared searchingly into stormy blue eyes, his heart racing madly while he waited for some reaction.

Slow to comprehend the ex-knight's implication, Squall stared with an expression of concentration. When it finally sunk in, his lips parted in a silent gasp. Though no verbal response came to mind, he tried to speak. Failing to emit any sound, he stopped himself by clamping a hand over his mouth.

"Don't take it serious," Seifer muttered. Turning away, he waved a hand dismissively. "You're too easy to mess with sometimes."

Blushing faintly, Squall quickly dispelled the ludicrous notion that the ex-knight had been serious. The only possible meaning behind any of it for Seifer had been an ego boost. The man had indeed proven himself quite skilled at sex. He had lost count of how many times he had climaxed. There was no further redemption to strive for and certainly no plausible reason for his continued presence in the man's apartment.

Seifer slipped into a pair of boxers, casually keeping his back to Leonhart. "Go ahead and use the shower."

Carefully standing, Squall walked with a slightly hunched posture. Moving past the scantily clad blond, he made his way to the bathroom, one staggered step at a time.

"There's a potion on the sink," Seifer informed lamely, his eyes watching the slim fighter's nude form hungrily.

"Thanks," Squall said before disappearing from sight.

Seifer stared after his rival for several long minutes, his mind in disarray. He couldn't make sense of his actions anymore. Running a hand through jutting blond hair, he smoothed the unruly strands back into a somewhat orderly placement.

Desperate for a distraction, Seifer started cleaning up. After setting his phone safely aside, he tore angrily at the dirtied bedding. In his lifetime, he had accumulated his fair share of wild nights, but he had never fucked someone so insatiably before. His appetite had never been so ravenous and he had long since crested his hormonal prime. It was disappointing to know that he could have both quality and quantity, but was unlikely to find it again.

Hearing the sound of pressurized water running, Seifer tamed his urge to barge in and screw his rival against the tiled wall of the shower. "I'm turning into a damn queer," he grumbled under his breath, casting an accusing glare towards the closed bathroom door. He would have felt relieved if he were even remotely disgusted with what he had done.

Balling the sheets and blanket up tightly, Seifer carried to load to the stacked washer and drier in a small alcove only a short distance from the bathroom door. Dispensing detergent with a grudge, he tried to label the unwanted feelings that had taken root. Leaning against the running washer, he bowed his head and sighed. His relationship with Leonhart had never been simple, but it had never been quite so complicated either.

The sound of the shower running caused lewd images to form in Seifer's head. Picturing Leonhart wet and naked, he clenched his jaw and stalked forcibly away from the bathroom door. Wondering if Esthar's beam lifts emitted some sort of radiation that turned straight men gay, he cursed his unnatural attraction to the effeminate swordsman.

Spotting a lone pillow on his stripped bed, Seifer grabbed it and tore the case off. He didn't want any trace left, not even the faintest intoxicating scent of his rival's hair. Returning to the washer, he tossed the item in and let the lid slam shut loudly.

Still battling his urge to charge into the bathroom and make the most of the next hour, Seifer paced around stacked boxes while debating what to do. He had already had his fun and needed to leave well enough alone. He needed to control himself.

Angrily, Seifer dressed. Though he needed a shower, he wasn't going to stick around any longer. He would stay away until Leonhart left, and then he would sort his head out and forget the recent insanity in his life.

Having barely buttoned his jeans, Seifer was already shrugging into a red t-shirt he had hastily snatched from an unpacked box of clothes. Glancing around for his sneakers, he fell head first into the clutches of treacherous desire at the sight of Leonhart fresh from the shower.

Squall stood exiguously in a black towel, goose bumps forming on his arms as he shivered against the cool air. His hair was poorly dried and the lengthy strands dripped beads of cold water while clinging to his neck. His clothes were on the floor near Seifer's bed. He had worn them very briefly and was grateful to not have to return home wearing incriminating evidence.

Standing off as though about to spar, the two men simply stared at each other.

After several tense moments, Squall gestured towards his clothing before moving closer.

Swallowing thickly, Seifer commented, "That was a quick shower." He stared hungrily at his rival's unmarked torso. All his hard work had been erased. As heat gathered in his throbbing groin, he accused the oblivious brunet of intentionally presenting him with a clean canvas. Pale skin was begging to be marked again, to be touched and defiled by his hands.

Squall knelt to pick his strewn clothing up. Wary of the ex-knight's intentions when he could feel the heat of green eyes at his back, he glanced sidelong over his shoulder. "Do we have an understanding?" he questioned as he stood up slowly. Clutching his clothes to his chest and forcing himself not to shiver after taking an icy shower, he turned to face the blond and waited for an answer. Accidental run-ins aside, he would do his part to avoid the ex-knight at all costs and expected the same in return.

Standing tall, Seifer moved closer with a predatory gleam in his eyes. He stared at the intrepid fighter and silently challenged the man to back away. True to his rival's nature, Leonhart remained in place unflinchingly. He wanted to laugh at how such steadfast tendencies only enticed him more and worked in his favor.

Bowed lips forming a straight line, Squall feigned calm indifference. Inside, his heart was in his throat, beating so loudly he feared it gave him away. When a warm hand reached out to cup his cheek, he turned his head away in blatant rejection.

Seifer was not deterred. Hand hovering for a moment, he lowered it to caress along a pale neck. His eyes widened in shock. "Shit, you're freezing," he hissed. Setting a firmer hold on the former commander, his other hand found placement on a thin shoulder.

Shrugging his shoulder away, Squall finally caved. Stepping back, he escaped the advancing blond and refused further contact. Whatever they had been, they were over.

Eyes narrowing suspiciously, Seifer swiftly followed the retreating brunet. "Hold it," he said, managing to grab a bony wrist and stop the elusive man's escape.

Jerking his hand away, Squall bit out, "Don't touch me." He tried to project a certain level of collected calmness, but he was far from calm. The ex-knight's touch was searing. Heat spread from his neck and shoulder, and his wrist practically burned from the man's hold.

"This building is old, but it isn't that old," Seifer said offhandedly. Refusing to release Leonhart's delicate wrist, he roughly yanked the swordsman close. Wet hair that almost looked black was freezing against his neck. "My shower has hot water. Why the hell do you feel like you went skinny dipping in Trabian seas?"

Dropping his clothes, Squall used his free arm to force some distance between their bodies. "Let go," he ordered.

"Trust me, I would if I knew how," Seifer said. Pulling his rival close again, he felt the chill emitting from the man's lithe body. "For both our sakes, I wish I could."

About to protest one last time before throwing a punch, Squall's retaliation was smothered. Warm arms wrapped around his shivering frame and a hungry mouth found his. Hands clutching the ex-knight's t-shirt, he turned away and remonstrated, "Seifer, that's enough."

Stepping forward, Seifer forced an unbalanced fighter to use him as support. "Don't kid yourself," he hissed against the brunet's ear. Sliding a hand down, he pushed the towel away from slender hips and let the makeshift garment fall to the floor. "This started because I was jealous. But we both know that was just an excuse. There needed to be an excuse, but I can't think of a single one right now."

"I need to get home," Squall asserted. His fingers dug into broad shoulders as he kept a steadying hold and warred with the rampant desire to kiss the bastard blond. "This needs to end."

"I agree," Seifer murmured. Taking another step, he felt the brunet step back in tandem, moving willingly as he dictated. Smirking, he continued to direct Leonhart blindly backwards. "Perhaps you should have thought of that before you provoked me."

Squall shook his head. He hadn't provoked the man.

"Ever have sex in a shower?" Seifer questioned suggestively. Reaching the bathroom, he attacked plush lips. Successfully drawing his rival into the kiss, he counted it as a victory despite knowing the loss of control was yet another failure to douse his attraction.

TBC…

Author's note: super long time to wait again. I swear I haven't given up on this or anything like that, I just find myself with less time to write. This is still my main focus though and I will finish it. I hate unfinished stories that are posted but haven't been updated in like two years. This chapter was actually much longer, but I didn't like the last six pages of it, so I chopped it off to be reworked and realized I didn't want to postpone an update any longer. Well, that means the next chapter is already in the works, so the next update will be soon. And just a small warning for anyone who prefers Rinoa bashing in Seifer/Squall fics, as much as I dislike Rinoa in the game, I won't be making her out to be some witch.

Thank you all for your reviews, I love hearing what you think about the story, the good and the bad. (I'm shooting to have an update before next Tuesday.)


	33. Chapter 33

Defining Love

Chapter Thirty-Three

Determined and resolute, Squall stepped onto the beam lift in the lobby of Laguna's apartment building. If he focused on the impending inquisition, then his concerns towards Seifer faded to the background. Drawing the collar of his grey hooding closer to his neck, he self-consciously made certain the ex-knight's souvenirs weren't visible.

Clearing his throat, Squall said, "Fourth floor." His voice wasn't as hoarse as when he had first woken up. The potion had seen to soothing his throat, but Seifer had seen to making him strain his voice all over again.

Within moments, Squall faced a short hallway and two stern faced bodyguards posted outside a solitary door. There were five apartments in the building, each on separate floors. The president seemed to enjoy floor hopping, rarely staying in the same apartment longer than a week.

Squall approached the two guards and gave a terse nod as he passed. After scanning his fingerprints and keying in the code on panel adjacent to the doorframe, he entered the apartment. His arrival had been highly anticipated. No sooner had he entered than he was greeted.

"Squall!?" Selphie called out before rushing into view. Long copper brown hair flipped about, going wild in its unbound state after she had sprinted to the doorway. In pair of yellow shorts and sleeveless white tank top, she brightened the small entryway.

As the door closed behind him automatically, Squall moved forward and mustered a fleeting smile. "Hey," he said quietly.

Practically pouncing, Selphie wrapped her arms around the former commander and crushed the man in her tight embrace. Seeing Squall always felt like coming home. A warm and safe feeling seemed to magically encompass the surrounding area, putting everyone at ease. "It's been way too long," she chastised, giving a final squeeze before relenting.

Peering overtop the petit woman's head, Squall locked eyes with his adoptive sister. Ellone was a vision of modest beauty.

Ellone's bobbed brown hair framed her round face. Big brown eyes gazed clearly and honestly. Despite having no blood relation, she and Squall shared the same porcelain skin and sensual lips. Her fuller cheeks made her appear more cute than beautiful, but her demure demeanor made her the modicum of a gentlewoman.

Squall stared into Ellone's smiling eyes. He was distantly aware he could never express such open emotion in his own eyes. Managing a soft smile, he remembered that Selphie, Rinoa, and Ellone were his family. Despite the innate sense of dread he had over what seemed to be an intervention, he reminded himself that he wasn't marching towards the gallows and that he could expect a certain level of understanding from those closest to him.

Ellone fiddled with the skirt of her simple pale green sundress. "You're a sight for sore eyes," she said in a shy voice. Though the circumstances were regrettable, she could not hide her joy.

Rinoa sidled up beside Ellone, eagerly stealing a glimpse of Squall before the attractive swordsman came out from the entryway alcove. Regardless of having words of condolence on the on the tip of her tongue, she simply smiled.

Side by side, Ellone and Rinoa projected very different images. Rinoa stood a full head above her counterpart, but it was the result of four-inch heels versus Ellone's flat sandals. Rigorous exercise kept her slender body in the same state it had been seventeen years ago. Her form fitting jeans hugged every curve and her royal blue tank top dipped low enough to showcase her chest with tasteful immodesty.

Attention turning to the sorceress, Squall felt his age instilled into him by the sight of change. Rinoa's raven hair fell like a silky curtain just above exposed shoulders, cut with precision evenness. Her heart shaped face was leaner and more mature with faint laugh lines forming near petal lips. Dark brown eyes stared ardently, swimming with warmth and excitement.

Selphie took hold of Squall's hand. "I'm so sorry about Cale," she said as she squeezed cold fingers.

Tearing his gaze away from Rinoa and Ellone, Squall regarded the concerned brunette. He saw sincere sadness in usually vibrant green eyes. "You have nothing to be sorry for," he said evenly. He pulled his hand away gently.

Brows knitting, Selphie watched the aloof swordsman move past her and walk farther into the apartment. She shared a brief look with Ellone before following.

Rinoa walked beside her ex-knight. Needing to test the water before she plunged in, she did not embrace him or even link her arm through his. In times of distress, the former commander became very distant and standoffish. It was his way of dealing with pressure and tragedy. There was nothing wrong with it and he always came back around eventually, but she didn't want to force him into a corner with fawning hugs and kisses.

Adjusting the collar of his hoodie again, Squall schooled his expression as he moved into the large living room. The gathering unsettled him, but he was averse to all crowds. His definition of a crowd was somewhat skewed as a result, which only served to feed into his original aversion.

All heads turned towards the new arrival. Lore and Laguna sat together on the long brown leather couch. Irvine sat in a matching armchair and promptly stood at the sight of his best friend.

Irvine approached the former commander. "I hope it was a pleasant spar," he announced wryly. Setting his hands on Squall's shoulders, he squeezed firmly to confirm the man was real and not a figment of his imagination. He could not wrap his head around whatever motivated the brunet to seek comfort in the biggest asshole in existence. It worried him. There was a lot to worry about.

"…" Squall didn't know how to respond. While he didn't thrive on being honest and truthful, he avoided lies like the plague. He stared steadily into violet-blue eyes, searching them for advice.

"Don't worry," Irvine whispered. "They came to distract you, not strap you down for an interrogation." With a chaste kiss to the brunet's temple, he stepped away to make room for his eager nephew.

Lore was upon his father the second there was an opening. He hugged the man tightly. "I'm so glad you're back," he said with poignant relief.

Accepting his son without a second thought, Squall hugged the boy in return. He relaxed and pondered the irony of Lore being able to envelope him in a comforting embrace. He had hoped the sixteen-year-old would stay a little boy forever, but as the youth proved to have a broader and slightly taller frame, he realized how fleeting his role as a parent truly was. "I'm sorry for making you worry," he whispered.

"It doesn't matter," Lore asserted, greedily consuming any bit of affection thrown his way. It had been less than a week since his father had become a total recluse, yet he felt as though he had been shut out forever.

"It does," Squall refuted. "I let this affect you and that isn't right." Ruffling his son's hair, his fingers brushed through short raven strands with a certain somatic familiarity that he had missed.

"Do you want to lie down?" Lore mumbled as he reluctantly broke away.

Squall shook his head, knowing he could never fall asleep in the middle of the day. He tried to ignore the fact that the only sleep he seemed to be getting at all was when he was with Seifer. Thoughts wandering for a moment, he clutched the collar of his sweatshirt and recalled with treacherously vivid accuracy how he and Seifer had left matters standing. Words had proven themselves inconsequential when he repeatedly said one thing and did another. He didn't know where he was left or if the ex-knight was satisfied.

--

Irvine lay in bed beside his wife. He was trying to fall asleep when a sound caught his ear. Squall's room was just across the hallway and he was fairly certain it had been the brunet's door he had heard slide open. He waited with bated breath, hoping the man hadn't snuck out again. Several minutes passed, and then he heard the bedroom door open again and he knew the insomnious swordsman had probably just gone to the bathroom.

Gently casting aside the blanket, Irvine slid from bed and tiptoed across the floor. Hoping that the noise didn't wake Selphie, he signaled the door to open. It was only a few steps across the hallways before he entered Squall's bedroom.

Striding in through the automated doorway, Irvine didn't wait for an invitation into his sullen friend's private quarters. He smirked knowingly when a surprised brunet looked at him questioningly.

With a mug of tea raised to his lips, Squall lowered the drink and set it on the nightstand beside his bed. "I thought you were sleeping," he said, hastening to make room for his friend on the cluttered bed. Strewn paperwork was stacked around him like a makeshift barrier. He gathered it all up into a single messy stack and set it aside with his laptop.

Irvine looked curiously to the papers the swordsman had been pouring over. "Did you get a new mission?" he questioned in surprise. As the highest rank SeeD, there were very few missions that required Squall's assistance, which had put the fighter into a semi-retirement from active duty.

"It came in after dinner," Squall informed evenly, his disinterest in discussing the mission apparent.

Nodding noncommittally, Irvine sat on the edge of the reticent fighter's bed. "Does Cid know about Cale?" The timing was too auspicious to be coincidence.

Leaning back against the headboard, Squall hugged his knees and mulled his response over in his head. "It isn't necessary. The mission is preliminary and won't be taken to the field for a couple weeks."

"I see, and you figure that Cale will be some distant memory by that time," Irvine commented critically. Glancing sidelong, he informed, "It doesn't work like that."

Squall stared resolutely at the gunman. "Have I given the impression that I care so little?" he muttered. Regardless of his undermining actions to seek relief, he didn't want to forget or lose his sense of guilt. He wanted Cale to remain fresh in his mind, constantly reminding him of his detrimental mistake.

Violet-blue eyes widening, Irvine refuted, "I'm saying you care too much." He tried to explain his point clearly. "In two weeks, you might be able to have some normalcy again, but do you really think returning to the field so soon is a good idea? You blame yourself for Cale's death. You know a leader can't second guess themselves and that's what will happen if you're put in charge of a squadron before you come to terms with the fact that you didn't get Cale killed."

Understanding the sharp shooter's point, Squall nodded. "I know," he mumbled in reluctant agreement. "This is a solo job. I wouldn't have accepted it otherwise."

Irvine frowned disapprovingly. "I don't think you should be doing it. You're practically retired. Why take a mission now?"

"…" Squall frowned in reflection. Even though Cid had made it a personal request, he had accepted because it was a distraction. Paperwork and a prospective trip acted as a welcome distraction from his own brooding thoughts. On some level, he was trying to replace Seifer.

"Forget it," Irvine said at length. "I'd rather hear about you and Seifer."

Squall had spent his Tuesday afternoon in the company of three beautiful women who had effectively held his attention completely. Left without a single spare minute to turn his focus inward, he hadn't sorted through any of his thoughts. He was just as confused about Seifer as he had been leaving the ex-knight's apartment. By the time he had a chance to absorb the gravity of his sleeping with Seifer, it had almost been midnight and Irvine had already gone to bed.

"Was the sex any good?" Irvine questioned abruptly, hoping to catch the former commander off guard.

Eyes widening, Squall hastily buried his emotions and scowled in response. "What kind of question is that?" he retorted, forcing all defensiveness from his tone.

Shrugging, Irvine said, "It's a serious question. I'm here for you to confide in." He waited patiently, giving the brunet little choice but to answer.

Memories evoked, Squall felt his temperature rise and a faint shiver run down his back. Clearing his throat, he muttered tersely, "It was fine."

Irvine quirked a curious eyebrow while studying the swordsman. "He didn't hurt you again, did he?" he asked slowly, searching for any indication that the brunet was hiding something.

Licking his lips, Squall dropped his gaze. Hiding his emotions was difficult when they were so strong. Irvine had struck a chord inside him, playing a note that opened the floodgate. Though his neckline was free of kiss marks, he felt the faint throbbing of suckled skin. Seifer's touch haunted him if his mind was left unoccupied. Almost forgetting the gunman's question, he forced a lid on tumultuous emotions. "No," he affirmed, shifting uncomfortably in place.

"Squall," Irvine began with worry in his voice, "if that bastard hurt you, it's my privileged duty to put him out of commission."

With reserved embarrassment that indicated a certain level innocence, Squall admitted in a near whisper, "It was good." A faint blush painted his cheeks a rosy pink. Finally caving, he bowed his head and pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. Openly having sex wasn't his reason for feeling chagrinned. It was his choice in partner and the secret knowledge that sex with Seifer stood as the pinnacle of physical pleasure and crux for future comparisons.

"So he didn't hurt you?" Irvine reiterated, wanting absolute confirmation

"No," Squall assured. "He wanted to make up for last time."

Irvine scoffed. "Nice excuse," he commented sarcastically. "He just wanted to sleep with you again."

Squall wanted to agree with the gunman, but ever since the ex-knight's little outburst about the meaning behind their sleeping together, doubts had formed. He questioned how unattached Seifer had truly been. Physical intimacy opened the door for emotional attachments. He supposed it was an inevitable danger for both of them. Holding on for too long made the break less clean.

Irvine struggled in silence, trying to move past the concept of consensual sex between rivals. Guiltily, he realized he had been anticipating some vile act of rape under the pretext of the ex-knight being a heartless bastard. Though he cared little for what light Seifer was cast in, he cared a great deal for the amount of pain his friend was put through. Despite his doubts, he settled on the comforting notion that Squall hadn't been hurt at all.

"What is it about him that attracts me?" Squall asked, his tone heavy beneath his incriminating insinuation.

Irvine tore his gaze away from the burgundy colored quilt. Staring into turbulent grey-blue eyes, he realized how very lost and confused Squall had been feeling the entire time.

"What drives me to him?" Squall pressed, an undertone of desperate vexation lacing his words. Eyes unwavering, he sought wisdom from his friend. His unbridled passion for the ex-knight had consumed him, his actions and emotions running unchecked and unrestrained every time he stood within arm's length of the handsome blond.

"You were upset and vulnerable. He happened to be available when you needed a distraction," Irvine explained astutely. "Sex is a common remedy for grief. Even if Almasy is a complete jerk, you've known him for years and in a baseline way, that's comforting."

Worrying his bottom lip, Squall listened to the gunman's words. He was hungry for the no-fault excuses, but the taste was too bitter in his mouth to swallow. He refuted the perception that he had merely sought relief in his mourning state. "The attraction started weeks ago," he said candidly.

Crossing his arms, Irvine sat in contemplation. Mentally running through his extensive catalog on cases of attractions between opposites, he reached a single feasible explanation. "Physical compatibility," he proposed soundly.

Brows knitting in consternation, Squall tried to understand how he was physically compatible with Seifer. They were dissimilar in every possible way, except both being male.

Irvine forced himself to logically reason his explanation, but he instinctively cringed from making associations between someone he loathed and someone he loved. He felt as though he were insulting Squall in the worst way. "You share a love for the gunblade and battle. You're rivals for a reason, right?"

Squall absorbed the gunman's words and stared searchingly at the bedding. Pieces of the puzzle started falling into place, but he suddenly became frightened of the picture revealed. "Forget it," he said, coming to the abrupt understanding that ignorance was in his best interest. If he rationalized his attraction to Seifer, then it automatically took on meaning. Attachments were dangerous and wouldn't have any part of it.

"What?" Irvine intoned uncertainly.

"I don't want to rationalize this," Squall elaborated. He gave a halfhearted glare, impressing the severity of his conviction on not discussing it further. "Drop it," he added a bit coldly. He knew Irvine wasn't to blame, but the gunman was in a threatening position to prove his sleeping with Seifer hadn't been temporary insanity.

"Okay," Irvine agreed, appeasing whatever strange whim had suddenly caused his friend to shy from a greater understanding.

Squall sighed. "I'm sorry," he apologized.

Irvine shook his head. "It's fine. I don't want to pressure into talking about anything, but I'm willing to listen whenever you're ready."

With a wry smile, Squall made a compromise. "I'll talk about Cale," he offered in compensation for his friend's abundant patience and understanding. "And how I broke up with him the night he died."

Violet-blue eyes widening, Irvine felt a wave of shock hit him. Breath stolen, he struggled to regain his wits and listen attentively. He hadn't expected to hear about Cale until Squall's guilty conscience stopped rubbing salt into fresh wounds. He was truly shocked, but could hardly deny Squall the chance to relate the secretive story of the tragic night.

--

It was Thursday afternoon and the weather seemed incapable of making up its mind. Though it was only partly cloudy, the grey anvil shaped masses in the sky promised a heavy rain that never seemed the come. Every so often, the sun would peek out and banish all notion of potential precipitation.

Squall and Rinoa had just been served drinks in Lexis Café. When they finished, they would attend Lore's soccer game. With time to kill and a lot to discuss, their corner table gave them a suitable amount of seclusion.

"So how many days has Lore missed?" Rinoa questioned, willing to talk about anything to keep the conversation going. She sat poised in her simple red t-shirt and flowing skirt with patterns of maroon flowers. She appeared casual and free spirited.

Thinking about it, Squall mentally counted the number of days his son had missed school. "Three days this week," he answered. He self-consciously adjusted the cuff of his white dress shirt. He had dressed up for the occasion of meeting with Lore's high school principal. Black slacks and a dress shirt were considerably formal for someone who preferred leather.

Rinoa nodded. "He's a smart kid though, three days is nothing."

"He'll be benched for his match," Squall added, revealing the real consequence of missing school and practice.

Tilting her head to the side in thought, Rinoa pondered aloud, "If he's benched, why are we going to the game?"

Tugging the teabag's string to help his tea steep faster, Squall replied, "His team is still playing."

Smiling, Rinoa accused jokingly, "You've never missed a single game, have you?"

Squall tucked lengthy strands of rich brown hair behind his ear. His hair needed to be trimmed before he began to resemble Laguna.

"So," Rinoa started with a devilish smirk, "are there any women in your life?"

Barely managing to swallow the hot liquid in his mouth, Squall coughed as he set his drink down. "How long have you been waiting to ask that?" he returned evasively.

Chuckling quietly, Rinoa admitted, "Since I saw the hickey on your neck when you came back yesterday."

Surprise registering on his face, Squall stiffened.

Rinoa realized her mistake when the brunet blanched in shock. "I'm sorry," she asserted. "I didn't mean anything, just conversation. It's none of my business."

Mechanically, Squall reached for his drink and took a measured sip. His heart was in his throat, racing with the fear that everyone knew about Seifer. He hadn't been particularly smooth or crafty in covering up his whereabouts, but he had at least assumed Irvine and Lore were the only two persons who held knowledge on his humiliating dalliance with such an unsavory character.

"Forget I said anything," Rinoa continued, regretting her attempt at meaningful banter. She and Ellone had related countless stories yesterday, but hadn't heard a peep from the man they were there visiting. She had hoped to learn something new about the introverted swordsman.

"It's fine," Squall assured. "It wasn't inappropriate, just observant."

Dipping her finger into the whipped cream atop her latte, Rinoa lifted her fingertip to her mouth and tasted it with a forced air of casual passiveness. "If it's any consolation, I don't think anyone else saw it," she added blithely.

"It really is fine," Squall reiterated. Relaxing, he sunk against the high back of his chair. "Secrets are hard to keep in the best of times," he commented thoughtfully. "It's not much of a secret anymore."

"It can't be that bad," Rinoa consoled.

Squall scoffed and corrected, "It can be."

Rinoa simply shrugged, not knowing what else to do or say.

Studying the raven-haired sorceress, Squall tried to rectify the awkward turn their lunch date had taken. "There was someone," he conceded, feeling more open about his relationship with Cale than he ever would about his mistake with Seifer. When dark brown eyes glinted with anticipation, he conveyed his meaning in a single name. "Cale," he murmured, the name resonating in his mind.

An expression of sheer confusion contorted Rinoa's face. "You and Cale were…"

"Seeing each other," Squall supplied bluntly.

Still appearing confused, Rinoa's expression softened and she reached across the table to grasp the former commander's hand. "Hyne Squall, I'm so sorry you lost him," she said heavily, her tear ducts reacting before her brain had even processed the reality of the brunet's forward confession.

Though Squall wanted to point out how futile it was for anyone to be sorry, he agreed for the sake of being more agreeable than he had been the previous day. "Me too," he said evenly.

For a long, respectful moment, Rinoa squeezed her ex-knight's hand tenderly and gazed sympathetically into stormy blue eyes. "I wish there was something I could say to make it better."

Squall met his tolerance for sympathy. He laughed quietly, truly amused by the sorceress' heartfelt words. "It's not your place to say anything," he said with subtle condescension, as though calming a child who didn't understand that accidents happened and no one was going to cast blame. "You had nothing to do with his death."

Rinoa received the distinct impression that beneath the swordsman's assurances of her own innocence in the matter, he was condemning himself as the guilty party. She frowned while slowly retracting her hand and spoke no further on the subject. She hadn't known Cale very well, but her sadness wasn't for the man who had died.

Squall checked his watch. "We should leave soon," he concluded. "It gets crowded fast and I don't know how long my meeting will be."

With a bare nod, Rinoa picked up her latte and took a sip. "I hope you know that you're going to have to explain the rules to me. I don't know anything about soccer."

Content to return to superficial chitchat, Squall let his eyes wander to fill the dull void. The heart-stopping glint of golden blond hair caught his attention. Remaining icily composed as he felt threatened and strangely fearful, he locked on to the man with blond hair. Forgetting to breath, he concentrated all his senses on the person at the far end of the café.

"Squall?" Rinoa spoke alarmedly.

Impervious to the sound of his former sorceress, Squall felt bewitched when he couldn't see past the veil of Seifer's image. It was several suffocating moments before reality registered in his mind. The man he saw six tables away had a short and stocky build and blond hair several shades darker than Seifer's.

Rinoa turned around in her seat, trying to find the source of Squall's disturbance. "What is it?" she questioned again, searching the bustling café. Given the steely gleam in the swordsman's eyes, she half expected to find Ultimecia at the counter ordering a vanilla chai tea.

Ashamedly, Squall tore his gaze away and stared sternly at the tabletop. "It's nothing," he muttered bitterly, seething with anger at himself and the bastard ex-knight who occupied his thoughts. Mistaking the stranger in the café for Seifer had been quite the delusional feat considering the two looked nothing alike. He could only surmise that he had subconsciously been searching for any sign of his rival. "We should go," he said, standing abruptly.

--

Seifer stood beneath the warm spray of water from the unfamiliar showerhead in the hotel room he had booked for the night. Thoroughly washing his body with soap wasn't enough, so he lathered sun-kissed skin again and scrubbed non-existent vestiges of sex from his body.

His need to cleanse his body wasn't due to disgust or repulsion. He was merely dissatisfied and wanted to wash the feeling away.

The bombshell brunette he had taken in for some recreational fun had proven to be a skilled partner in bed, but the experience remained dull and morbidly unremarkable. He had climaxed detachedly inside the woman whose name was too common for him to remember. There had been no second round because by the time he had managed to work his disinterested body to orgasm, an exorbitant amount of time had passed and the exhausted woman had fallen asleep under the belief that he was a stallion.

He was resentful of the woman's satisfaction, her grating cries still ringing in his ears unpleasantly. He felt ashamedly impotent.

His night had started out with the promise of a distraction. Alcohol numbed the throbbing in his chest and groin. Leonhart had faded to the back of his mind. Ironically, the brunette he had had sex with could have doubled as a slightly less attractive female version of Leonhart. He supposed his subconscious desires had set him up with a replacement.

As Seifer left the hotel room, he began to accept the root cause of his disappointment. There had been nothing wrong with his recently acquired lady friend, only that she wasn't Leonhart. While his ego told him to deny any continued attachment to his rival, he was reminded of the trouble his ego had gotten him into already.

Trudging off in is own melancholic world, Seifer decided to find a form of distraction that didn't end in cold reminders of what he couldn't have.

TBC…

Author's note: Yay, I'm so proud of myself for finishing a chapter so soon. Then again, it's about half as long as the chapters that were taking me forever and day to produce. Sorry for any errors, typos, or grammatical blunders that evaded my attention in proof reading. I know I should get a beta, maybe for future stories. Thank you all for the awesome reviews and your patience for the excruciatingly slow pace. Anyway, not much is happening action-wise, but sometimes dull interactions are necessary. There will be more action in the next chapter.

For anyone confused by how Seifer seems just takes the m-preg in stride, I'll just say that the questions everyone wants to have asked will be asked when Seifer is at a stage to ask them. -- Did that make any sense?


	34. Chapter 34

Defining Love

Chapter Thirty-Four

Squall gazed tiredly at the shadowed ceiling of his bedroom. Casting an arm over his eyes, he continued to stare blindly into the crook of his elbow. His aversion to sleep persisted. The cup of water on the nightstand beside his bed contained enough diluted sleeping powder to knock him out for a solid eight hours, but he couldn't bring himself to drink it.

As his body shivered with tremors of sleep deprivation, he turned onto his side and curled up as though cold. Needing to occupy his mind with thoughts other than the temptation of drinking the sleeping potion, he checked off another day on his personal calendar. Exactly thirty-four days had passed since Cale's death.

Ashamedly, he had become somewhat desensitized to the relentless guilt. Even icy showers couldn't instill any more meaning into what had happened. He had labeled each moment, analyzing his mistakes to the point of dizzying exhaustion. There was nothing left for him to pick apart or dwell on morosely.

He wasn't willing to forget or forgive himself, but his body seemed incapable of reacting anymore. His stomach didn't turn to knots and his blood didn't run cold. The burning of welling tears hadn't plagued him since the funeral. There was no vice that squeezed his heart painfully tight when he conjured hauntingly vivid images.

Irvine assured him that anyone who continually exposed themselves to dark emotions was bound to grow immune, but he wondered if it might be his own insensitivity. He was left with the conclusion that while he had truly liked Cale, there had been too little time for him to love the man. The loss he felt from Cale's death was already a healing wound. It paled in comparison to the devastation he would have felt if Irvine or Laguna were taken away. He couldn't even bring himself to consider a life without Lore.

There was no rulebook for who to love and how much. He couldn't construct a logical outline without the entire affair becoming a heartless mess. Sometimes he imagined he had an internal clock counting down the hours, reaching a zero point where he was allowed to stop caring. He didn't think it would ever be okay not to care, even if it sometimes felt like that was where he was heading. Perhaps it was acceptable to not hold the guilt so close to his heart, but it would always weigh heavily on his conscience.

With a quiet sigh of resignation, Squall closed his eyes. By refusing the sleeping powder, he was assured that he could wake himself up.

There was no escape from his obsessive thoughts. His mind had always been a sanctuary of calmness for him to turn to at any hour of the day. Now he struggled for control amidst rampant memories. When he was awake, he couldn't stop thinking about Cale. When he slept, he dreamt of Seifer.

At night, Seifer infested every corner of his mind like a disease. He wanted to be rid of the man, but physical separation did little to quiet his mind and body's recollection of what it felt like to be around the arrogant ex-knight. Whenever he allowed his body to shut down for the night, he woke up with a horrible ache inside his chest.

Refusing to contact Seifer, he believed the feeling would pass with time and the proper distraction. In three days, he would be docking at the first marine based garden off the shores of the Island closest to Hell. He hadn't made up his mind on whether to visit Cale's parents when the mission was complete.

--

Standing center stage in a white dress shirt and black slacks, Seifer wallowed in the glory of his finished training center. Surrounded by five stories of high rising seats, a worthy crowd was guaranteed for sanctioned fights. Behind the scenes were training centers stationed around the massive edifice. There was a boxing ring, a shooting range, an extensive weight room, a fitness center, a swimming pool, an indoor track, a rock wall, and more.

He had gone to great lengths by consulting the few remaining retired gunblade specialists in order to create a suitable environment for anyone with enough gall to train with the outlandish weapons. While he had relied heavily on his own experiences, he had taken into consideration that Leonhart had not trained in the same way as him. Knowing his rival's need to utilize both arms in swinging the heavy blades, he was well aware of the different techniques that required different regimens.

His pet project had inadvertently become a source of great fulfillment. It was over the top, but he intended to make his selfish creation lucrative. He was confident he could draw crowds even during a time when the warrior's path was exceedingly bypassed.

He would make a sport out of mercenary training. Spars would be watched and revered, the mastery of weapons recognized by entire audiences. His ego had been the core of his driving inspiration.

For all the time and money he had put into it, he was gravely disappointed to consider that the battlegrounds would never be christened with a spar between himself and his greatest rival.

The thought of never sparring with Leonhart again struck him as unfathomable. There was little satisfaction in a match if his opponent wasn't the legendary commander.

Focus drifting, Seifer let his thoughts settle on Leonhart. Regardless of how busy he kept himself, there was always a tugging coercion in the back of his mind that urged him to think of his rival, to remember his last meeting with the elusive fighter. He was constantly hounded by a sense of loss.

While his pride had kept him from originally recognizing his attraction, he was not a foolish man. He knew Leonhart had meant something to him, and still meant something. He didn't claim to love the man, not even a little bit. Nonetheless, he had known Leonhart too long not to care on some level.

His desires were still perplexing, though he strongly suspected it was a matter of compatibility. Together, he and Leonhart had crossed the line of rivalry. Years ago, it had first happened during the war, when constructive competitiveness had turned into pernicious hate. They had been enemies during the war, something deeper than rivals and far more meaningful.

A different line had been crossed since his move to Esthar. Fate had again shaped priming circumstances, playing on his jealousy during a time when he had just renewed his addiction to the rush of excitement in their spars. His possessive nature had been played upon, stringing his ego along like a marionette until he had seized Leonhart by force.

Returning to his previous placement as nothing more than a rival would have been a simple matter, if not for the fact that he had tasted a rush far more addicting than battle. Leonhart's body had been the single most gratifying experience in his life.

Flexing broad hands that had scarcely known any joy beyond the grip of a gunblade's hilt, he stared down at calloused fingers and recalled how smooth his rival's flesh had felt. Leonhart had such a supple body, muscular and sensual at the same time. He had come to terms with the impotency he faced when seducing partners who couldn't possible measure up to the high standards Leonhart had set. He no longer found the soft bodies of women alluring and retched at the thought of bedding a man.

"He didn't smell like a man," Seifer thought aloud, recalling the intoxicating scent that clung to pale skin and dusted every strand of rich brown hair. Following hours of rigorous sex, Leonhart's soiled body hadn't lost its appeal. He suspected the brunet unwittingly emitted fuck-me-now pheromones, but it was hardly a singular matter of his olfactory sense being entranced.

Running a hand through his hair, Seifer took a final glance around before he strode from the center of the arena. He was embittered by how eager Leonhart had been to cut all ties. While he could not fault the man for it, he felt spurned nonetheless.

Doubts had formed in his mind. He questioned his own worth, which was sheer blasphemy for the godlike creature that he was. It didn't seem reasonable for such passion to flare between them, and then carry on separately as though none of it had ever happened.

Seifer had moved out of his apartment, taking up a more fixed residence closer to his training center. He had unpacked and settled in less than a week after Leonhart had walked out the door of his old apartment. A change of setting had been necessary for his sanity. His rival's presence had been imprinted on every inch of his old apartment. Keeping residence there would have been like pouring salt over a gaping wound.

With a scoff, Seifer admitted that he had indeed been wounded. The entire affair had been a matter of stroking his ego, but in the end his ego had suffered a strong blow. He could not stop questioning why Leonhart didn't want to continue seeing him. The sex had been impossibly good for both of them.

He was aware to some degree that their continued relations jeopardized both pride and reputation. He had clearly felt the faint tug on his heart's strings, which was an obvious indicator that his emotions had been too involved and an attachment had started to form.

He had hardened himself against his longing. At first, he had been confident that the feeling would pass. Now, he questioned how much longer he would have to wait before he could successfully sleep with someone else and stop pining for someone he should never have tasted in the first place.

--

A small crowd had gathered in the spacious kitchen of the Leonhart residence. Several mismatched folding chairs mingled with the four fixed wooden seats around the long oval dining table. A poker night had been scheduled, at least a year overdue since its initial proposal. There had been frequent assertions here and there about meeting once a month, but everyone had their own lives and they would sooner see each other on holidays.

Rinoa idled in the living room, a phone attached to her ear as she said goodnight to all the children at the orphanage. The process was painstaking, but heartwarming. She paced around the living room in form fitting blue jeans and a dark navy hoodie, her silky hair tied back in a ponytail.

Newly arrived, Laguna waved a quick hello as he passed Rinoa. A smile plastered itself to his face as he entered the kitchen. Dressed casually in a pair of khakis and aquamarine golf t-shirt, he projected an excited aura. "I've brought my poker face," he greeted, beaming at everyone in sight. Hurriedly, he slid into a seat beside his grandson.

Lore spared his grandfather a short welcome before turning his attention back to his aunt. In jeans and a white t-shirt, he had barely had time to change after returning home from practice before the guests had filed into his home. He informed his aunt once again that simply because she favored hearts over all other suits, that didn't mean they were worth more "points."

Kiros stood in a formal navy blue robe, appearing somewhat reluctant to join in. "Is it too early to fold?" he muttered under his breath.

Standing head and shoulders above everyone in the room, Ward clapped a hand to Kiros' narrow shoulder. Bowing his head in understanding, he gave a firm squeeze before dropping his hand and moving farther inside the kitchen, his grey robe swaying with his broad form.

Kiros watched his silent counterpart sweep towards the island counter, bordering the milling group and keeping out of the way. Clearing his throat, he announced, "We're not playing with real money."

Also standing out of the line of fire, Irvine sat atop the counter along the wall, wearing a plum wine dress shirt and dark blue jeans. He watched the merrymaking, but had a heavy matter on his mind that kept him from participating. Smirking at the dark skinned advisor, he jibed, "Afraid we'll clean you out?"

"Exactly," Kiros agreed with a wry glance towards the president. Laguna's expressive nature made it easy to read the man's face while at the same time causing him to become swept away with the excitement. Had he not intervened in the last poker game, Esthar would have gone bankrupt.

"Alright!" Selphie exclaimed, hanging off her nephew's arm as the boy patiently explained the rules of the game to her. In a bright orange t-shirt with a four-leaf clover shimmering at her sternum and poker hat, she would have drawn attention even if she had been sitting silently in the corner. "I got it, I'm ready." Eyes trained fiercely on the grouped examples of several different possible hands, she committed them to memory. Her son peered over her shoulder curiously, sticking close to her side amidst so many adults.

Lore glanced uneasily at his aunt before sharing a look across the room with his uncle. He shared a look of relief with the gunman that no actual money would be at stake.

Seated a hair's breadth apart, Hanna and Terri talked between themselves, stealing glances at their younger cousin every so often. Dressed similarly for the sake of confusing others, they wore matching mini skirts and halter-tops. Terri's shirt was red and Hanna's was blue. They were discussing whether their dear sixteen-year-old cousin, by no blood relation, was cuter than their uncle Squall yet.

Laguna curiously counted the packed seats and came to the conclusion that there weren't enough seats for everyone. "There's only seven seats," he pointed out, not speaking to anyone in particular.

"That's my cue to sit out," Kiros said decisively, striding over to join the observant marksman.

Irvine regarded the lanky advisor with a knowing smirk. "I'm out too. Watching all of you is entertainment enough."

Selphie huffed indignantly, casting her husband a withering glare. "You can play the winner."

"Darlin'," Irvine placated gently. "The night isn't that young."

It was five o'clock, but the time had a way of passing unnoticed when they gathered together. The atmosphere was relaxed and the poker game was only an excuse to break the ice between the few persons unused to spending time in Squall and Lore's home. By the time there was a winner, it would be time to leave.

"Where's Squall?" Kiros questioned quietly. His dark eyes gazed around the room searchingly, as though the striking brunet were somehow blending into the scenery.

"He'll be here," Irvine assured.

Lore stared across the table towards his uncle, having to read the man's lips to catch the privately spoken words. "He's bringing dinner," he added confidently, his undertone implying that the task of bringing food automatically ensured that his father would arrive in a timely manner.

"I see," Kiros commented thoughtfully, dropping the matter. He wanted to ask how Squall was holding up, but realized he couldn't do so without ruffling a few feathers.

"He's doing good," Irvine said in a near whisper, his eyes trained on his nephew as though Squall's state of being directly correlated to the boy.

Kiros nodded solemnly. "Where is he?" he questioned in an inconspicuously hushed tone.

"He is bringing dinner, but he's probably still at the cemetery."

Eyebrows rising in surprise, Kiros mulled the news over. At length, he commented, "It's a strange hour to pay respects."

Violet-blue eyes darting a curious glance to the older man, who seemed to mirror his observant position, Irvine related, "It's been five weeks, he goes every Wednesday. Today was hectic, so he ran out late."

"I heard he's leaving the day after tomorrow," Kiros said casually, not exactly in a position to question the actions of his best friend's grown son.

Irvine hummed a note of quiet confirmation, not wanting to discuss the topic any further with so many ears present.

With a clatter, Selphie set down a flashy silver briefcase in the center of the kitchen's table. "We're going all out this time," she declared. Smiling, she flipped open the clasps and lifted the lid. Spinning the case around, she displayed the contents. A never before used set of generic poker chips neatly packed in Styrofoam padding.

Grinning, Irvine watched his wife in amusement.

Rinoa strode into the kitchen, a hand raised as she removed her phone's earpiece.

Gripping the back of his mother's chair, Tyler questioned, "When are we eating?"

Selphie reached behind and patted her son's head consolingly. "Soon, sweetie. Your uncle Squall will be back any minute," she promised.

Right on cue, Squall finally presented himself on the kitchen's threshold. Donning black slacks and black untucked dress shirt, his dark appearance told of his continued mourning. Hair damp and unkempt, spiky strands shielded a single grey-blue eye while the rest of the mane framed a pale neck. In either hand, he held several white plastic bags, the warm aroma of takeout wafting into the room.

Gazing around, Squall stood in the entryway a little longer than necessary, seemingly reluctant to enter.

Ward moved forward, reaching out to take a load of bags from Laguna's son. It seemed like a lot to carry.

Squall nodded faintly in thanks, handing over several bags with a rustle. Following Ward's broad figure, he moved towards the island counter and set the rest of the bags on top. "I think I got everything," he stated, fishing out the long list from his pocket and glancing over it, observing the penciled check marks he had placed next to each item he had ordered. It had been a hassle to appease everyone's tastes, but he was thankful that he hadn't ended up running around to six different places to accomplish it.

"You should have let me help," Irvine chastised gently. Leaning against a nearby counter, he crossed his arms and gave the former commander a disapproving look.

Frowning, Squall didn't respond. He had attended his own business prior to picking the food up. There was little sense in stopping back home just to retrieve a helping hand when he could manage the task alone just as easily.

Lore's chair scraped across the tiled floor as he hastily stood up. Crossing the kitchen, he sidled close to his father, but refrained from hugging the man in front of everyone. "Why's your hair wet?" he questioned worriedly. It was barely mid-July and the nights in Esthar were too cool to walk around with wet hair.

"Shower," Squall supplied sparsely. Reading concern in blue-green eyes, he ruffled the boy's hair reassuringly. He had gone swimming after visiting Cale's grave. The exercise itself had been necessary when he was two days away from deployment, but using a facility several districts out of his way when his apartment building had a pool had been a matter of reminiscing. He had gone to Orion University, reliving the moments that had first created a bond of friendship between himself and Cale.

Irvine studied the pale brunet's face, ascertaining the man's health. While the former commander had seen better days, there was an obvious improvement since Cale's funeral. With all the acuity of a best friend, he knew it was no longer guilt that ailed Squall. He was almost afraid to consider the possibility that Squall was still hung up on Seifer.

Squall moved around the counter and walked towards a row of cupboards at the far end of the kitchen. Feeling the scrutinizing gaze of many eyes on his back, he frowned as he reached high for a stack of plates.

"Can I watch TV while I eat?" Tyler intoned beseechingly, youthfully oblivious to the silent exchanges taking place all around the room.

Distractedly, Selphie murmured, "Yes, but only because there isn't enough room at the table."

Lore hopped to attention, hastily shuffling through the silverware drawer abashedly. His aunt had required so much of his attention that he had neglected his duty to set the table for dinner. Knowing his father was too kind to reprimand his indolent lapse, he felt all the worse for forgetting.

"I'll help too," Irvine said, suddenly feeling like a bum as he watched the group's breadwinner carry about silently in preparation.

Squall stationed the plates in one area, figuring it would be best for everyone to serve themselves. "I'm going out again," he commented surreptitiously, rummaging through a lower cabinet for paper napkins.

"What?" Lore questioned dubiously, setting a bouquet of forks down beside the stack of plates, the premature release sounding a noisy metallic clatter. "Where?" he followed up. Disappointment threatened to dampen his mood for the entire night. His father was scheduled to leave the day after tomorrow and he had no idea when he would see the man again.

Acknowledging his son's disapproval, Squall turned to the boy and explained, "Just for a bit, to buy stocks for my trip."

"You mean potions for your mission," Irvine corrected, pointedly inflecting his words to make the difference of meaning greater than it actually was. Whether anyone in the room cared to admit it aloud, no one approved of Squall going on a mission. Cale's death had affected the unshakeable fighter in a way that had shocked them all. Even he hadn't anticipated the level of grief the composed commander had felt. It didn't seem proper for Squall to head off into to the field during such a recuperative time.

Eyes sharpening, Squall regarded the gunman intently. He had sensed some heaviness in the air, an atmosphere denser than normal. He hadn't known what caused it and hadn't felt inclined to ask when no one betrayed the root of unease.

Irvine stood several feet away from the brunet, the penetrating gaze of steely-blue eyes losing no effect with distance. Lips forming a thin line, he hesitated in speaking his mind with so many people in the room. He knew the others were probably expecting him to speak up, since he was the best friend.

"Is there something I should know about?" Squall questioned slowly, eyes scanning the room. Reading the same expression on several faces, he nodded as he received an answer. Softening his gaze, he looked to the younger members of the group and addressed them in a tone far gentler than he intended to use with the rest. "Do you mind eating in the living room?" he requested, already gathering three plates and moving towards the center counter.

Hanna and Terri watched curiously, fascinated by the unexpected drama. Of a single mind, the twins glanced at each other and confirmed a shared reluctance to miss a single moment. Reading their uncle's insistent gaze, neither could argue. They stood resignedly.

Terri moved forward, smiling faintly under the pressure to vacate the premises.

Hanna turned to Tyler, motioning for her younger brother to move ahead of her. "Come on, we'll let you choose what to watch on TV," she offered, knowing that control over the television would persuade the boy to hurry.

No one seemed to breath while Hanna, Terri, and Tyler filled their plates and left the war grounds. When the room was finally emptied of innocent bystanders, the tension only mounted. No one dared to break it.

Taking the reins as best he could under the circumstances, Squall walked smoothly towards the kitchen's entryway. He placed the open doorway at his back, unwilling to be cornered. Crossing his arms, he scanned the room one last time before establishing the subject of argument. "I didn't think any of you minded my taking this mission, one way or the other," he said, putting everything into context.

"I always care," Lore reminded. He had never liked it when his father left the country overnight. If it weren't for his grandfather, the occasional time apart from his father would have been unbearable as a child. Though his attachment had long since graduated from outright dependency, his worry was exacerbated by recent events.

Squall nodded, offering a softer gaze for his son. "I know," he said quietly. "But you also understand that this is what I do."

Shoulders straightening as he stood taller, Lore pointed out, "But you almost never leave."

"I'm almost never asked to," Squall countered, not missing a beat.

"Squall," Irvine began reproachfully, "let's not beat around the bush by pretending this is something that cannot possibly be done without you. Cid asked a favor, but he didn't ask for it immediately and there are others qualified to do it."

Jaw clenching, Squall stood before the firing squad, berating his own idiocy for not seeing how opposed his son and friends had been. As anger filled him, his eyes sharpened warningly. They were entitled to their opinions, but springing the matter on him so suddenly was not acceptable.

"This is poker night," Selphie reminded sternly. "Don't go ruining it by bringing this up." While she shared her husband's views, she did not like how the situation had come to a sudden head. It was rude and inconsiderate to just lay it all out in front of everyone.

Rinoa swallowed thickly, feeling quite out of place. If she had thought Squall's return to work was premature, she hadn't considered saying so when the estranged rift between them remained so wide. "Guys," she began in an appeasing tone, "let's just sit down and eat."

Squall stared the gunman down, waiting until violet-blue eyes lowered before he bothered looking elsewhere. "I'll be back in an hour," he said evenly, unfolding his arms and waiting an extra moment as though daring anyone to protest.

Hesitating for as long as it took his heart to complete a full beat, Lore rushed to follow his father. "I'm coming with you," he stated, almost colliding against the man's back when he caught up unexpectedly fast.

Intent on escaping the suffocating atmosphere inside his own home, Squall glanced back and decided that if he was making an escape, he might as well leave with what mattered most to him. He gave a single nod, walking again towards the main entrance.

--

Steering with one hand, Seifer loosened the neck of his tie. He felt about as comfortable in a tie as he would have wearing a frilly ascot and leggings. There were certain sacrifices he made for the sake of appearances.

At a red light, he relaxed for the first time since he'd gotten behind the wheel. He let out a long sigh, tired from a long day of public relations. His past had been dredged up, brought to light in the form of redundant questions regarding his status as Ultimecia's former knight.

Reaching up, he began to undo his tie entirely, tugging on end until it dangled lifelessly in his hand. Eyes glancing back to the hanging traffic light, he confirmed its continued red glow before letting his gaze wander elsewhere.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he spotted a familiar car parked alongside the street. It was mid-evening, but the city's lights were bright enough to eliminate any shadow of a doubt on what he thought he saw. It also helped that he had Leonhart's license plate memorized and was able to make a match. Studying the line of buildings along the sidewalk, he knew immediately what his elusive rival was up to.

The light turned green, which was motivation enough for Seifer to go.

--

In an items shop, Squall perused the long aisles stocked with every item he might ever need for the most dangerous of missions. With a red plastic basket dangling off of his right arm, he selected a few items every so often and added them to his carrier.

Lore shadowed his father, keeping silent while searching for the right words to say. The only obvious topic of choice was the man's impending departure on a mission he had just recently expressed his disapproval over. He wasn't looking for a confrontation, which made it difficult to think of something unrelated to talk about.

Finally, when he couldn't bear to keep silent any longer, Lore blurted out, "So what's the difference between a regular potion and a hi-potion?"

"A half-pint of blood," a baritone voice answered from behind the father and son duo.

Squall's entire body went rigid, tensing up at the sound of the ex-knight's voice. The sound cut through his defenses sharply, each syllable running along his spine as a tremor. He turned slowly, almost afraid to confirm with his eyes what he recognized with his ears.

Lore whipped around with a shocked and disbelieving expression.

Seifer played on the boy's surprise. "It's true," he assured demonstratively. "The hi-potion heals more flesh faster, saving about a half-pint of blood depending on the injury." Standing tall, he presented himself in a sharp navy blue dress shirt and slate gray dress pants. Having forgone the formality of his tie, he had unbuttoned the top couple buttons on his shirt, intent on drawing his rival's eye to his neckline.

Finding his voice, Lore hissed accusatorially, "What are you doing here?"

Turning his attention away from the boy, Seifer locked eyes with his rival. Unabashedly running his eyes over the epicene fighter's darkly clad form, the Adam's apple in his throat quivered as he gulped. The possessiveness he felt was not born of jealousy anymore. Looking at Leonhart, he simply needed to possess the man, like a sorely desired object that couldn't be bought easily. His hands longed to take hold and claim his rival as his own. If he listened to the hedonistic voice in the back of his mind, he would have tossed Leonhart over his shoulder and taken the man home indefinitely.

Clearing his throat as his thoughts became unfocused, Seifer hastily composed himself again. "I think that's pretty obvious," he replied, holding the gaze of stormy blue eyes. A lesser man would have become lost in those eyes. Leonhart's eyes reminded him of a turbulent sky that was more often than not fogged over with an impenetrable defense. If he was lucky enough to surprise the man, then those eyes became a whirlwind of emotion, revealing what the introverted swordsman felt at any given moment.

Caught off guard, Squall was defenseless against the intense onslaught of desire that arose within his body. He felt dazed, blindsided by Seifer's abrupt appearance. Struggling to gather his wits, his voice was lost, bombarded by the throng of emotions running wild inside him.

"I had hoped to catch you alone," Seifer said, sparing the boy a quick glance of annoyance.

Swallowing dryly, Squall finally blinked. His eyes were drawn to the strong hollow of Seifer's neck, swarthy skin displayed tauntingly. He shook his head, trying to cast off the hold Seifer had on him, but it didn't help. "What?" he murmured, almost too quietly to be heard.

Seeing the affect he had on Leonhart, Seifer couldn't help but smile. His ego swelled, glowing with the warm hues of conceit. It would seem that his mere presence had the power to sweep the brunet off his feet. There was nothing more validating for his masculine pride to feed on.

"We're leaving," Lore stated. Turning to his father, he set a hand on the man's shoulder. "Come on, Dad," he urged.

Seifer's hand moved of its own accord, grabbing his rival's upper arm to stay the man. "No," he asserted without any understandable reason.

Squall stood dumbfounded, his son urging him in one direction and his rival urging him in another.

"Back off," Lore said seethingly. Though he was sorely tempted to push the ex-knight back to emphasize his meaning, he had no desire to exert some false projection that he could actually succeed by using force. He was an amateur fighter compared to the cocky blond who had suddenly shown up unwanted, something he was all too aware of.

"Are you his keeper now?" Seifer quipped sardonically.

Knowing he should leave without delay, Squall found that his feet refused to move. His entire body revolted against his decision to leave. He was sent back two months, to when the attraction between them had built to the point where resistance was futile.

"I'll accept chaperone," Seifer conceded highhandedly, eyes gazing downward into fierce blue-green eyes. Making friends with Leonhart's son was obviously not an option. There was no reversing the dislike he read in the boy's eyes. "I'd like to have a spar," he clarified.

Distantly, Squall registered that whatever Seifer intended to with him, it was not to sequester him for sex. He couldn't help but feel disappointed.

"That's innocent enough for you, isn't it?" Seifer inquired, his tone mockingly polite.

Glaring reflexively, Squall pulled his arm out of the ex-knight's hold. Heat had gathered where the blond's hand had touched and his arm felt cold on its own. "It's late," he supplied as an excuse, not willing to divulge the grittier details of why he couldn't remain in the same vicinity as the smug man.

"Tomorrow then," Seifer offered, determined to trap the brunet into accepting. "The training center opens next week and I'd like for us to test it out."

"Dad's spending all of tomorrow with me," Lore said defensively. It was a lie. He had school the next day.

"Like I said," Seifer bit out grudgingly, loath to make nice with the kid, "you're welcome to tag along." Spotting Leonhart's car on the side of the street had been lucky enough. Finding the brunet alone would have been pushing the envelope. He wanted to slip his arms around his rival and giving a more intimate greeting, but he restrained the urge.

"Seifer," Squall began, immediately regretting that he had spoken the ex-knight's name, which rolled too smoothly off his tongue, "that's not-"

Sensing rejection on the horizon, Seifer cut the brunet off. "Don't turn me down, Leonhart. There isn't a single excuse you could make that I won't see through."

As Squall stared uncertainly into jade-green eyes, his opposition melted away. "A spar?" he questioned evenly.

Lore looked back and forth between his father and the ex-knight. The last time he had spoken with the hectoring blond, the man had told him that his father had fallen asleep after a tiring spar. His suspicions had never been confirmed, though he felt rather certain his father hadn't actually been sparring with the brute.

Unable to help himself, Seifer said, "Unless you want more."

Cheeks heating, Squall glared, the conscious effort succeeding in sending icy daggers.

Seifer smirked, amused at how easily he could unhinge his aloof rival. "Come to the center at noon. Bring the boy if you don't trust me." Leaving no room for refusal, he turned and strode away with renewed vigor in his step. Feeling victorious, he was reenergized. The following day couldn't come soon enough. Whether or not Leonhart showed up, he had a legitimate excuse to track the man down.

--

Dressed for bed in a faded blue t-shirt and baggy grey flannel pants, Squall sat comfortably with his legs folded and his back cushioned against the headboard. He was in the process of reviewing a mountain of files for his mission. A timid knock sounded, stirring him from the lost rhetoric of reading material he had already memorized. Setting his file down, he glanced up and called out, "Come in."

Lore opened the door, peering inside cautiously before stepping in completely. In plaid pajama bottoms and a white-beater, he appeared fresh from the shower. With school the next day, he was ready to call it a night at ten o'clock, but not before talking with his father. "Can we talk?" he requested.

Squall nodded, leaning over to clear space on his bed. "We can always talk," he said, pointedly leaving the most room beside himself. The poker night hadn't been a huge success, but it hadn't been a disaster either.

Approaching his father's bed, Lore hesitated near the edge for several moments before crawling into place beside the welcoming mercenary. "It's about Seifer," he broached tentatively.

Running a hand through limp strands of hair that obscured his vision, Squall regarded his son with an expression of prescient anticipation.

Licking his lips nervously, Lore asked bluntly, "Are you and him a thing?"

Quirking an amused brow, Squall questioned, "A thing?"

Rolling his eyes, Lore muttered, "Are you sleeping with him?"

Eyes widening, Squall remained surprised for as long as it took to remember that his son had probably known the truth all along. The boy had never asked whether he had truly been sparring with Seifer several weeks ago. Despite his decision to be honest, the matter hadn't come to light. He had wanted to be forthright with his son, but not under the guise of a confessional. Now that he was finally being asked, he would be appropriately candid.

Shifting to sit more to the side, Squall leaned on the pillows he had stacked against the headboard. Looking into his son's eyes, he said, "I did."

"And now?" Lore pressed.

"No," Squall answered honestly. Though a part of him wanted to sleep with Seifer on a regular and never-ending basis, wishful thinking didn't make him accountable.

Lore recalled the entranced expression on his father's face earlier that evening. His father had been completely wrapped up in the ex-knight, not a trace of the sadness that he sometimes caught lurking in stormy blue eyes. "But you want to, right?" he continued, painfully aware that there had been a strange attraction between the lifetime rivals. "I mean, that's what was going on back at the items shop, the whole fatal attraction thing that Uncle Irvine talked about."

Squall stared at his son incredulously. "Your uncle talked to you about this?" He had confided in Irvine and wasn't surprised that his son had done the same. He was, however, uncertain when Seifer had become the greater concern.

"Well you weren't admitting it," Lore explained. "I didn't want to bring it up when there was other stuff you had on your mind."

Brows drawing together expressively, Squall reached out and ran his fingers through the boy's drying hair. "You know the dynamic we have isn't going to change," he said gently, hoping he hadn't given the impression that their relationship was ever going to change.

"What do you mean?"

Ending his play with short raven tufts, Squall clarified, "I have no intention of bringing someone else into our lives. It's just you and me, and your grandpa." Only Irvine knew what he had talked to Cale about on the night of the professor's death. He imagined it would only be a burden to Lore, for the boy to know that he had chosen to put romance on the backburner for the sake of appeasing the youth's endearingly possessive nature.

"Is that because of Cale?" Lore asked uncertainly, not wanting to make it sound like the present "dynamic" they lived with wasn't pleasing enough. He hoped his father didn't intend to swear off all romantic intrigue because of Cale's death.

Squall shook his head and offered a faint smile of reassurance. "Cale was a great man and I regret his death more than anything, but that's a separate issue," he explained. "For the past sixteen years, my life has been you." Searching for the right words, he tried to convey the depth of his feelings, knowing his limited capacity for speaking would never allow it. "I'm happy having you with me. I don't need or want someone else. Raising you and watching you grow up is all I need."

Feeling as though he had just been confessed to in a strange, non-romantic sense, Lore blushed. He was unable to respond. After several long moments of silence, he cleared his throat and returned the point he had been driving at. "I can't help not liking anyone who likes you," he said. "I've always had you to myself and I know I'm spoiled like that, even Uncle Irvine says so."

"Only as spoiled as I raised you to be," Squall pointed out. He made a mental note to interrogate Irvine later. It seemed that his son had shared quite a bit with the gunman and he was curious about how much of it pertained to him.

Lore shook his head, not to refute what his father said, but to motion that he wasn't finished speaking. "That doesn't mean I don't want you to be happy with someone else. That's what I realized with Cale. And I'm sorry he's gone now. I feel responsible for how you felt since I practically pushed you into his arms after all that trouble to keep him from getting too close."

Frowning, Squall tried to correct his son's blameful thinking, "Lore-"

Cutting his father off, Lore asserted, "My point is, I think Seifer's an ass because he obviously likes you."

"No," Squall disagreed, reflexively arguing any insinuation that the ex-knight liked him. Hesitating, he simply commented, "Seifer actually is an ass."

Lore laughed, saying, "You know what I mean."

"…" Squall did know what his son meant, but he was stuck on the idea of Seifer liking him. He was reminded of the run in with the ex-knight mere hours ago.

Sighing, Lore forced himself to clarify his position as the jealous son. "You can see people, date them or whatever. I don't care as long as you tell me. I hate being in the dark more than anything."

As his expression grew distant, Squall's mind slipped back to when he had stood dumbfounded before Seifer in the items shop. The longing he felt hadn't faded in the least. Every fiber of his body wanted the insufferable man. Hearing his son's words, he nodded numbly.

"Dad?" Lore questioned tentatively, not knowing how to read the vacant expression he saw.

Agreeing with his son's concerns, Squall called upon his best friend's words to diffuse an otherwise sensitive subject. "Whatever it is that I feel for Seifer, I don't understand it," he admitted. "Given our history, it's unsettling."

Lore stared intently at his father, determined to understand how the man felt. "Dad," he said worriedly, reading fear in distant grey-blue eyes. "You look scared, Dad. What's wrong?"

"I what?" Squall intoned dubiously, immediately grounded.

"For a moment there," Lore said, no longer seeing a trace of fear in the man's eyes.

Sobering, Squall pinched the bridge of his nose while trying to imagine why there was any fear detectable in his demeanor. He rubbed along his scar thoughtfully, wondering what it was Seifer made him feel exactly. "Fear of the unknown," he surmised evenly. "It's nothing, I'm fine," he added.

"Are you going to meet him tomorrow?" Lore asked earnestly.

Squall was unable to answer his son when he hadn't made up his mind. Debating the evils of meeting Seifer, not to mention the hypocrisy of it, he stirred from his resting position. Gathering up strewn files, he started organizing his paperwork into a single pile.

Pouting at his father's evasion, Lore frowned and silently vowed not to budge an inch until he received a straight answer. "I'm going with you," he said.

Standing from the bed with the files stacked against his chest, Squall regarded his son curiously. He hadn't confirmed one way or the other. He strongly suspected that it wouldn't matter by the end of the day, since the ex-knight was relentless.

Lore reasoned, "He'll just come here if you don't go there, right? That's what he does when he wants something."

Crossing the room, Squall paused after setting his files atop the long mahogany dresser. He was struck by the notion that his son understood how Seifer operated. Turning around, he leaned against the dresser and stared at Lore searchingly.

"What?" Lore questioned.

"Nothing," Squall dismissed, moving forward and approaching his bed.

Sensing his father's intention to keep silent, Lore remained stubbornly in place as the man turned the bedding down. "So, do you think we'll be there long enough to need lunch?" he inquired casually.

Squall tossed a pillow at his son. "You have school," he reminded.

Lore shrugged, perfectly willing to ditch school and be the chaperone Seifer considered him to be. "Are you going to bed?" he asked, throwing the pillow back at his father.

Catching the pillow, Squall set is against the headboard and gazed observantly at the youth on the other side of his bed. "That was the plan," he replied, taking his wristwatch off and setting it on the nightstand.

Lore stared thoughtfully at the down-turned bedding. He had absolutely no inclination to move. "There's no negotiating about you leaving, is there?" he murmured, addressing the big issue that no one had dared breath a word about since he and his father had returned from the items shop.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Squall placed his back to his son. "No," he stated firmly. He might have been going for all the wrong reasons, but he knew how to keep his personal life separate from the field. The mission would serve as a distraction. His mind cleared when he held a gunblade in his hands. He needed clarity.

"Would it be weird if I slept with you?" Lore asked quietly, embarrassed and shameless at the same time.

Surprised at the request, Squall snapped his head up and turned around to see his son. He knew the youth was concerned about his state of mind and how it might impede his ability to function in the field, but he hadn't thought it was a terribly serious anxiety for the boy. If Lore wanted to sleep in his bed, then it was far more serious than he had suspected. "I won't go if you really want me to stay," he murmured.

"No," Lore said hastily, continuing to stare down at the sheets. "I know you have to work. I mean, I do want you to stay, but it's not like I won't survive without you."

Brows drawing together contritely, Squall moved closer. "I haven't been called away in a long time. With all that's happened, I'll understand."

Swallowing thickly, Lore struggled to keep from begging his father not to leave. More than anything, he didn't want the man to go. It was just too soon since Cale had died, and with everyone else who shared his feelings, he knew he wasn't being paranoid. "No," he said as soundly as he could manage. "I'm just worried that you've still got Cale on your mind. That's what everyone else is worried about, but you know what you're doing."

Disconcerted, Squall simply listened to his son rant.

"Canceling the mission would be extreme. I just wanted you to know that I was worried. You know how I get whenever a big mission comes up." Hanging his head, Lore raised a hand to his eyes and took a moment to collect himself. "I'm sorry, Dad. I really don't want you to go," he whispered hoarsely.

Squall reached out and gathered the boy close. "It's fine," he consoled, regretting his lapse in judgment. He hadn't thought Lore was so adamantly opposed. The youth was emotionally wound up and his insensitivity hadn't helped.

Lowering his guard completely, Lore shifted to the side and hugged his father back, squeezing tightly. "Do you mind my sleeping here?" he reiterated.

"No," Squall responded. "Stay here tonight and in the morning, I'll call Cid and let him know I'm off the mission."

Pulling away, Lore stared at his father incredulously. "What?" he intoned in surprise.

Smiling faintly, Squall stated, "I'm not going."

"Is that okay?"

"Yeah," Squall assured. Breaking away, he redirected, "You still have school tomorrow and it's getting late."

Lore nodded in understanding. With little thought, he moved about until he was beneath the covers. When the light was turned off, he spoke against his own interests, saying, "You shouldn't cancel it on my account. It's fine if you go."

"Don't say things you don't mean," Squall chastised, slipping beneath the covers and joining his martyring son. "Your account is the only one that matters, so it's not fine if I go."

"But, the mission is important too isn't it?"

Settling in for the night, Squall shifted to lie on his side, facing his son. "It won't be canceled," he informed. "It'll just be carried out by someone else."

Tugging the covers, Lore jostled around until he had settled in comfortably. Lying on his back, he closed his eyes and wallowed in relief. "Dad?" he whispered.

"Hmm?" Squall intoned, not bothering to open his eyes.

Lore still had a serious contention with the following day. "Are you going to spar with Seifer?"

"I haven't decided," Squall mumbled. While he feigned sleep beside his son, he intended to analyze his brief meeting with Seifer and reach a decision on whether to see the man the next day.

Smirking to himself, Lore muttered, "It will be a spar this time, won't it?"

Detecting an undertone of mockery, Squall reached out and nudged the boy's ribs.

Lore squirmed, chuckling at his father's defensive reaction. "I'm joking," he returned. "G'night."

Drifting silently, Squall felt at peace. Though he wasn't tired, he was too aware of Lore's presence to think about Cale or Seifer. His mind began to shut down and he eventually fell asleep.

TBC…

Author's note: -- Nano is mentally exhausting. I don't know how some writers do it. I'm too anal retentive about things to not stop after every sentence and run through it again carefully in my head. Anyway, about this chapter, there was a small jump in time and maybe some weird tensions being thrown around, but at least Seifer's leaving his denial phase. Squall is a little more stubborn, but he'll get there. The story is very drawn out, and I'm so glad for everyone who's still on board. The reviews have been so helpful and supportive, I can't thank you all enough. I have no intention of abandoning this story, so even if it takes me forever to update, there will eventually be an update.


	35. Chapter 35

Defining Love

Chapter Thirty-Five

Behind the wheel of a black sedan, the sort of car no one would look twice at, Squall approached Seifer's training center in the fortieth district. He slowed down considerably as he turned into a recently paved parking lot. For a moment, he questioned whether he was in the right place.

The parking lot was empty, except for a flashy red SUV that was double-parked between freshly painted slot lines. Squall scowled at the sight of the car that took up more room than necessary. He couldn't help but feel as though the ex-knight was sending him a message.

Pulling up nearby, Squall parked his car properly. He gazed out the side window and studied the unopened training center. He hadn't been there in over a month. The stadium had appeared like a gutted building, still just a framework. The area outside had been a vacant expanse, the same as the barren desert that lay outside of Esthar's immediate borders.

Admiring the new training center, Squall could not suppress his wonder at what was on the inside. The stadium rose high. The architecture was surprisingly tasteful compared to his expectations for some flashy and annoyingly ostentatious design. He supposed Seifer hadn't actually designed the training center, just supervised and approved the plans.

Like most of Esthar, the building was bright against the sun's rays. The structure's smooth angles seemed strangely unnatural. A center beam ran from ground on one side, sloping upwards to arc high over the roof and down the other side, creating a bell shape. The white roofing molded cleanly with this beam, as though the stiff metal were the top of a pie and the uncooked dough simply draped over a five story high building. From the front, the exposed building from beneath the roof was tinted glass paneling, appearing like polished sheets of onyx.

Admittedly impressed, Squall cut the engine and sat back against his seat. He sighed softly at his looming meeting with the ex-knight. The decision to meet Seifer had felt more like an obligation. He had woken up fairly rested, and after talking to Cid about handing the operation over to someone else, he had felt disappointed at the loss of an opportunity for battle. He had exercised and trained increasingly during the weeks leading up to the mission. A spar was exactly what he wanted in lieu of a mission.

Meeting Seifer was still problematic. He was incapable of remaining sane around the overbearing blond. Though, he wasn't completely powerless. There was a solution. He could simply steel his resolve to avoid the man.

Resignedly, Squall reached over and unbuckled his seatbelt. He had already driven all the way there. His mind was made up, even if he couldn't quite accept his desire to be there. In the back of his mind, he knew there was an ulterior motive to Seifer's invitation. He had chosen to come anyway.

Having run away long enough, Squall opened the driver side door and stepped out of his car. Esthar was the largest city in existence, but it was too small for him to avoid Seifer forever.

Squall hadn't forgotten Irvine's ill-boding words about how he would be left alone when Lore moved out in two years. The prospect of not living with his son was very grim. While he dreaded a future where the teen would leave the proverbial nest, he was happy to watch his son grow up and move onto a new phase of life, even if that phase was entirely independent from himself.

He had spent the first half of his life alone and the second half surrounded by family. He didn't want to be alone again.

Seifer was not exactly boyfriend material. Any possible relationship between them would be on the field or in bed, the latter being a highly tentative possibility considering he had recently sworn the man off.

He didn't know what the spar that day would evolve into, but he was prepared for almost anything.

His body ached for physical contact. Before Seifer's interference, he had never had any contingencies with remaining celibate for long periods of time. Now, his libido ran unchecked and he constantly dreamed of the ex-knight. He had decided to meet his rival, knowing what might happen between them, and perhaps distantly hoping for it.

Closing the car door with a dull thud, Squall moved to the back door and opened it. The gunblade he had brought was lying along the back seat. He had the bullet rounds in the trunk, but didn't bother retrieving them. Live ammunition was only used against monsters or an actual enemy. The chance of a misfire was too great, although it might just solve all his problems.

From within the training center, Seifer appeared. He wore a form fitting black t-shirt and durable blue jeans. Walking past a set of sliding glass doors, he strode out into the parking lot with his eyes trained on Leonhart. He had watched and waited for the man's arrival.

"What, no chaperone?" Seifer called out to make his presence known.

Ready for a fight, Squall stood as a dark figure in black leather pants and a slate-grey t-shirt. Straightening up with his sheathed gunblade in hand, he corrected, "He's my son, not a chaperone." Meeting amused jade-green eyes, he glared. "He has school," he added evenly.

Moving closer, Seifer didn't stop walking until he was barely a foot away from the brunet. There was a tug from the pit of his stomach that drew him towards his rival, leading him exactly where he wanted to be. He towered over the smaller man, his eyes raking over the familiar form greedily. "Is that you're excuse for coming alone?" he questioned smugly, his breath falling short when Leonhart looked up at him and exposed a delicate neck to his sight. "Should I worry about my chastity?" he quipped tritely. The potency behind his antagonistic remarks fell short when his mind couldn't stop racing with lewd thoughts of attacking the creamy white skin of his rival's neckline.

Chin rising defiantly, Squall met the ex-knight's eyes and continued to glare.

Staring into icy grey-blue eyes, Seifer grinned. A small thrill ran through him as the urge to pounce arose. He wanted to slip his arms around Leonhart, and pull the stubborn swordsman's lean body against his own. Without the kid around, there was less reason to tame his desires. Taking on a deep tone, he stated, "You're sexy when you're angry."

Squall blushed. The sound of the ex-knight's voice sent shivers down his spine. It was the same voice the man had used in bed, whispering intimately into his ear, a husky voice filled with lust.

Seeing pale cheeks turn red, Seifer longed to see them flush with desire. "You're even sexier when embarrassed," he informed. Though he smirked as though he were joking, he was entirely serious.

"Whatever," Squall muttered in dismissal. He became slightly flustered, afraid that his stirring desire was obvious.

Seifer wanted to chastise the brunet for being cute. Leonhart's adorability rarely revealed itself, but the flustered reaction he observed almost made him want to pinch the brunet's cheeks. It was an alluring side to the man, an honest side free of the usual coy ploys he found in his more experienced partners. There was nothing coquettish about the reserved man, which was just another reason why he couldn't get enough.

Seifer was trying his best to control his desires, but Leonhart seemed oblivious to his plight. If he witnessed any more of the man's frazzled expressions, he wouldn't be accountable for his actions. "I almost wish your boy had come," he commented.

"…" Squall stared with evident surprise.

"I suppose he wouldn't be much of a deterrence anyway," Seifer conjectured offhandedly. "I'd still want to fuck you senseless." His words were free flowing thoughts, which he took pleasure in sharing for the reaction they produced from the uncommonly affected commander.

Squall's cheeks heated again, a shade darker than before. It seemed strange to him that mere words could elicit such a reaction from his body. He supposed that knowing what it felt like to be fucked senseless allowed the ex-knight's words to have such power.

Seifer turned away, unable to look at his rival without his resolve breaking. He stalked towards the entrance to his training center, leading the way inside.

--

With his arm pulled across his chest, Seifer stretched while keeping a keen eye on his rival. Leonhart sat on the ground, legs straddled wide. When the flexible fighter leaned flush to the ground with ease, he swallowed thickly. There was nothing overtly sexual about the action, but any demonstration of how wide Leonhart could spread shapely legs was enough to heat his blood.

Squall took his time stretching. He had worked his body hard the past several weeks and his muscles felt stiffer than usual. When he was finally finished, he stood up and strapped his blade to his waist. It felt more like an actual battle if he had the holster on, even though it wasn't necessary.

"Do you have a preference in terms?" Seifer questioned.

Squall shook his head. He always left it up to Seifer to establish the rules of their spars. It was practically a tradition and wouldn't feel much like a normal spar otherwise.

Seifer smirked knowingly. "My choice, then? I'd be honored if I wasn't already used to getting what I want."

Squall rolled his eyes.

"Blades only," Seifer stipulated. After a moment of thought, he concluded, "First blood wins." His eyes flickered the to faintly pink scar running crosswise betwixt his rival's cutely furrowed brows. A memory came to him of when he had inflicted injury to the undeniably beautiful man's face, a time when their spar had also carried victory for whoever drew first blood. He ignored the urge to reach a hand to his own scar.

Squall reached to his hip, grasping the hilt of his holstered gunblade. Unsheathing the weapon slowly, he held it aloft to make his arms recognize the weight.

Seifer's sharp green eyes watched Leonhart intently. Feeling his moment of opportunity was right then, he added one last arrangement to their spar. "The winner receives a request."

Going rigid, Squall gazed at the ex-knight with suspicion. "Request?" he intoned warily.

"Yes, any request," Seifer affirmed. Not wanting to appear too eager, he stooped to the ground and picked his own gunblade up, feigning indifference to the matter. In a casual tone, he said, "The loser has to comply."

Squall scowled. "Is that what today is about?"

"That's part of it," Seifer answered candidly. Winning the spar and making his request was just the first step in obtaining what he wanted from Leonhart.

Though he wasn't surprised, Squall was still suspicious. Something felt strange about Seifer's behavior. The man wouldn't have put on airs if it were just an arrangement for sex. As he began to doubt the ex-knight's motives, he wondered if he had misjudged the situation entirely.

"What do you want?" Squall asked demandingly. He would prefer to know ahead of time what he was getting himself into.

Seifer smirked. Leonhart was becoming more aware. A month ago, the unsuspecting brunet would have given an oblivious shrug and concluded any request of his couldn't be anything too terrible.

With an innocent expression, Seifer rejoined, "If I told you now, I might think you lost on purpose."

Squall glared, not at all amused.

Smirking lewdly, Seifer informed, "You're giving me a hard on."

"I can fix that," Squall said coolly, tilting his blade against the light. It was baffling how someone so arrogant and crass could possibly appeal to him.

Seifer tightened his grip on his gunblade, feeling a cold chill from icy blue eyes that seemed deathly serious. Castration was not an idle threat.

"Ready?" Seifer muttered, wishing to hurry his pending victory along.

Squall gave a single nod.

Smirking, Seifer gave a suggestive wink before saying, "Then let's begin."

The air went still, not even the faintest breeze passing through the open stadium. The atmosphere grew heavy, pressing down forcefully.

Seifer took his defense, but knew he wouldn't need it. He always struck first.

Squall crouched low, his gunblade raised as though he were warding the enemy off menacingly. Stooping lower, he propelled forward without warning. He dashed swiftly like a sprinter after hearing the sound of a cap gun. Charging towards the ex-knight, he had no time to relish the surprise in jade-green eyes.

Moving forward, Seifer gained what little momentum he could before Leonhart's blade collided with his own. With his gunblade raised high, he met the full force of his rival's attack. He was always surprised by the amount of power the smaller swordsman managed to exert.

Squall swung in a downward arc. The ex-knight's strong parry kept him from cleaving the man diagonally.

Both of Seifer's arms were necessary to keep Leonhart's strike from pushing him back. The shock from the collision rang through him painfully, making him wish he had allowed the attack to send him back so he could absorb it more naturally. Striking the unyielding edge of another gunblade was far less forgiving than slicing the soft flesh of most monsters.

Momentum lost, Squall retreated. Jumping back, he crouched low. Anticipating his rival's responding attack, he set his left hand to the ground, balancing his body while he moved his gunblade to the side. In no position to receive Seifer's retaliating strike, he surged forward, diving past the ex-knight.

Blade meeting air, Seifer swung through. The weight of his weapon helped to pivot his broad body around. Turning to locate the evasive brunet, his gunblade met Leonhart's upward swing in the nick of time. With a smirk in place, he pressed down, forcing his rival's blade lower until the tip kissed the packed ground.

Glaring fiercely, Squall retracted his weapon. His blade scraped noisily against Seifer's, the sound rather unpleasant to his ears. Leaping back, he distanced himself and prepared for the blond's next move.

Seifer's blood rushed through his body as his heart beat with wild excitement. Staring at his longtime rival, he couldn't help but smile like a contented fool. He could now open his training center without any regrets.

Taken aback, Squall tensed and raised his gunblade higher, as though the ex-knight's smile were somehow a greater threat than the man's sword. Eyes sharpening, he waited for some hint of his opponent's next move.

Unable to quench his thirst for battle, Seifer launched towards Leonhart. The muscles in his arms contracted tightly as he swung his weapon swiftly and fiercely. The force behind his strike was unparalleled, but someone like the former commander would never back down. The excitement he felt seemed to possess his blade. When clashing metal sounded, the note rung through the air and cried out with the same excitement he felt inside.

Blocking the ex-knight's blade, Squall held his gunblade above head, his left hand gripping the blunt side of his blade's tip. His arms strained to keep up his defense. It was unsettling to realize just how strong Seifer was. Over six feet tall with a broad frame, his rival's physique was solid muscle.

Squall's arms began to buckle under the immense pressure. His wrists were already throbbing. Knowing he couldn't withstand the force any longer, he maneuvered a hasty escape. With quick footwork, he pivoted around, throwing the ex-knight's blade aside while spinning out of harm's way.

Suddenly meeting no resistance, Seifer lurched forward. His blade was cast sideways, the motion nearly pulling him to the ground. With a curse, he stumbled.

Arms still recovering, Squall kept his distance. Guarding against the ex-knight's next attack, he kept low to the ground and balanced on the balls of his feet. The force of the brutish blond's strikes was too great. He couldn't fend off such a hit twice in a row. His rival knew this, which meant the man also knew that he intended to evade the next strike.

Regaining his footing, Seifer faced Leonhart with a perturbed glare. In the time he had faltered, he had expected to be attacked. Since the lion had not pounced while his defenses were open, he smirked with validation over his own strength. He had driven the fierce fighter into submission with a single blow. Now Leonhart would dance around him until lithe arms stopped throbbing from receiving such blunt shock.

Squall waited patiently, unwilling to move first.

Rolling his right wrist, Seifer swung his heavy weapon with ease, as if its weight were that of a twig. He was strong enough to wield a gunblade using one arm. He enjoyed flaunting his physical prowess in front of Leonhart every chance he could.

Squall rolled his eyes, not at all impressed. Mimicking the arrogant ex-knight, he held his blade out to the side, like an extension of his right arm, though his wrist protested the strain. He held the weapon suspended steadily, the horizontal position never wavering. Once his point was proven, he brought it back in and whirled it in the same manner as his rival, cutting a circle in the air. He was perfectly capable of holding a gunblade with one hand, but the weight was too much for extended periods of time. Without the optimal two hands, his attack power decreased dramatically and his strikes became sluggish.

Determined to win, Seifer started forward. His patience rapidly waned. He couldn't wait any longer to make a move on his quarry. The entire spar was his next move, an assault on Leonhart's life.

The dance between rivals began. Seifer sliced through the air with an onslaught of harrying strikes. Squall moved around as though he were weightless and wholly unaffected by the laws of gravity. Every so often, the sound of metal clashing would ring intensely through the stadium. The cacophony of metal was violently deafening at times.

Drawing faster and deeper breaths, Squall began to consider how to bring his opponent down. The ex-knight hadn't tired enough for him to strike back yet. It was still difficult to distinguish between which of the man's strikes to avoid and which ones to parry.

Seifer always struck forcefully, but couldn't land a hit unless he gave up some attack power and struck with speed. Leonhart seemed able to tell the different, knowing when to dodge a powerful hit and when to defend a fast swipe that lacked strength.

They knew each other's techniques too well. It kept them in a stalemate, where neither fighter was sure to win.

Victory felt close for Seifer when he finally managed to land a hit. He brandished his gunblade with two hands, his intentions seeming to be for a powerful blow. He cut the swing short and spun around as quickly as his large frame could. Striking from the opposite side his rival had dodged from, he married the blunt edge of his blade with Leonhart's shoulder.

Taking a solid hit, Squall staggered aside, nearly cast to the ground. He was effectively stunned, reeling from the pain that exploded in his arm and shoulder. His rival gave him no chance to recover. Jumping back to dodge the blond's next strike, he clutched his shoulder as pain seared through his right arm. He barely managed to keep a firm grip on his gunblade.

Seifer led an assault forward, driving his rival backwards. With the brunet dancing at the pace he set, he held the upper hand.

Squall finally made his stand, driven to act out of desperation. Dodging an attack that would have otherwise decapitated him, he bent low without retreating. Sweeping a leg out, he pivoted around. He struck the back of the ex-knight's knees, toppling the man to the ground.

Seifer grunted an irritated note when his back connected with the ground. Leonhart had moved faster than he had anticipated. The former commander had god-like speed.

Heart thumping rapidly with the thought of victory at hand, Squall attacked swiftly. Topping the fallen fighter, he kept the man in place using the weight of his body. Returning the ex-knight's favor of an injured arm, he stabbed his sword into the ground beside the man's left shoulder. The sharp blade sliced through sun-kissed skin. It was a shallow cut, but crimson blood flowed instantly.

Seifer winced at his defeat. Only fifteen minutes into the spar, and he had already lost. He was just beginning to work up a good sweat. He released his weapon, the sound of it thudding to the ground filling him with bitter resentment.

As he straddled the beaten blond, Squall kindly removed his blade from the ground, careful not to further incite the wound he had already made. Distantly, he grew aware of how improper his position was. Although it was not explicitly sexual, he couldn't remain mounted when the spar had concluded.

Sensing the brunet's movement and a subtle change in mood, Seifer's hand shot to a slim waist. "Wait," he said. Although he lay defeated, the view was fantastic.

Eyes narrowing, Squall gazed suspiciously at the blond. "What?" he murmured.

Seifer licked his lips. Taking a deep breath, he let his eyes travel along Leonhart's posed form, running over every inch unabashedly. He eventually came back to the pale swordsman's androgynously beautiful face. He released his breath, feeling as though it were stolen from his lungs.

"What?" Squall pressed, this time sounding slightly annoyed. He couldn't tell if it was from the spar or Seifer's intense gaze, but his body felt flushed.

Seeing a faint blush spread across high cheekbones, Seifer's hand involuntarily tightened its hold. His thumb rubbed across a jutting hipbone, slipping beneath the hem of the brunet's t-shirt. At the feel of soft flesh beneath his calloused thumb, his hold only tightened again, squeezing Leonhart's hip with untold need for contact. The look in his eyes demanded that the man not move.

Squall hesitated for a fraction of a second before scrambling off of the ex-knight. His hesitation had been noticeable. He had teetered on the edge for a brief moment. His choice to stand up had conflicted with his desire to rock his hips against Seifer's firm body.

Groaning in complaint, Seifer cast his head back against the ground. Closing his eyes, he sighed and remained listless for several moments. He could still feel the heat of Leonhart's body. Keeping perfectly still, he relished the lingering heat.

Observing the ex-knight's strange behavior, Squall stared down at the man curiously. Sheathing his blade, he crossed his arms and continued to wait. After several minutes, the ex-knight still failed to stir. He grew impatient and began to wonder if the blond intended to take a nap in the middle of the stadium.

Seifer betrayed himself with a grin. He chuckled quietly under his breath, able to sense his rival's impatience. Continuing to lie on the ground, he waited for some verbal response.

Scowling, Squall muttered, "What are you doing?"

Seifer laughed outright, amused at his ability to predict the sullen man's reaction. "Nothing," he supplied in answer.

Continuing to scowl, Squall tried to make sense of the ex-knight's behavior.

Sitting upright, Seifer's felt surprisingly accepting of his defeat. He was more amused than resentful. Leonhart had a way of amusing him.

Still waiting for the ex-knight to stand and face him, Squall shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Crossing his arms, he bit his lower lip as he debated whether to voice the question in his head. At length, he asked impassively, "What was your request?"

Quirking a brow, Seifer tilted his head upwards and regarded Leonhart dubiously. "Will I get it?" he returned quizzically.

Lips forming a tight frown, Squall didn't respond.

Standing up languidly, Seifer dusted himself off. "What's your request?" he mimicked in question. When silence followed, he stopped brushing dusty red dirt from the back of his pants. Looking at the brunet, he waited expectantly.

"…" Squall stared into jade-green eyes diffidently. He hadn't considered his request. The spar had obviously been contrived for a request Seifer had in mind, but he had fought without underlying intentions.

Smirking, Seifer spread his arms wide in a flourish of willingness. "I am yours to command, Leonhart. Have your way with me."

As his face heated, Squall sent a withering glare. He resented the blond's implication that he would order sex from the man. "You have nothing I want," he muttered coldly.

It was Seifer's turn to glare. Reproachful of such a casual and stinging rejection, he took a step closer to his rival. "That's harsh," he chastised.

Squall took a step back, raising a hand to ward the approaching ex-knight off.

Steps faltering, Seifer kept his distance. He felt like a dog that had been told to heel, or perhaps a wolf. "Am I so dangerous?" he taunted, his tone deeper than usual.

Squall shivered visibly, his body physically reacting to the ex-knight's baritone voice. "No," he denied hastily.

Moving again, Seifer's long legs brought him closer in a single step. Slipping an arm around Leonhart's slender frame, his hand pressed against the small of the man's back and kept the resistant fighter in place. "Don't run," he requested slyly. The implication of cowardice immediately stayed his rival.

Rooted in place, Squall balled his fists. Digging his fingernails into the flesh of his palms, he used the minor pain to help sharpen his senses and to keep the clarity he was sure to lose with his rival so close. "I don't have a request," he stated firmly.

"But I do," Seifer countered. With his hand against Leonhart's lower back, he pulled the man closer until their bodies collided.

"Let go," Squall hissed. Placing his fists against the ex-knight's solid chest, he tried to wedge some distance between their upper bodies. Leaning back, he tilted his head upwards to meet watchful green eyes.

"Don't be unreasonable," Seifer admonished. "You'll hear my request, won't you?" He placed his free hand at the delicate junction of Leonhart's neck and shoulder. Caressing along smooth skin, he leaned in.

Squall jerked within the ex-knight's firm hold. When his rival's lips met his own, he went still. Familiar warmth washed over him, withering any desire to protest. The gentle press of lips was softer than any kiss they had shared before. It lacked the usual demand for more. He couldn't help but give himself over.

Wanting nothing more than to be taken seriously in his request, Seifer kissed Leonhart coaxingly. He kept it soft and almost chaste, simply a slow meshing of their lips and mingled breaths.

Squall felt the entire world fade away. Gripping the ex-knight's black shirt, he pressed closer. The experience was vaguely familiar. The kiss didn't feel like a precursor for sex. The achingly soft action aroused an unnamed desire within him, as well as wariness for what it meant.

In the back of his mind, Squall began to unravel the mystery of how Seifer was kissing him. The ex-knight had never kissed him so gently before. It had always been demanding and forceful. Yet, the kiss was familiar. He had shared just such a kiss with someone else. A name lurked in the back of his mind, but he was too dazed to focus on it.

A knot of apprehension formed in the pit of Squall's stomach. Growing anxious over why Seifer was kissing in such a manner, he reacted by leading the exchange elsewhere. He felt strangely comfortable with the unhinged passion and roughness that sent him reeling. Gentleness put him on edge.

With relatively pure intentions, Seifer's mind began to lose its ability to function. Leonhart's lips were sinfully soft. When the complacent swordsman dared to dart a slick tongue out and seek entrance into his mouth, he groaned a suppressed note of aching need.

Unable to continue without losing himself entirely, Seifer broke away before the kiss became sullied with intentions for sex. Running his hands along Leonhart's torso, he wallowed in the feel of the brunet's body before setting his hands firmly on narrow shoulders. "What are you doing?" he questioned huskily.

Dazed eyes gazing upwards, Squall regarded the ex-knight with a flushed expression of desire. "Your request," he murmured quietly. Fingers clenching, he squeezed fistfuls of the man's cotton shirt.

Licking his lips, Seifer's eyes darted a quick glance to his rival's enticing mouth. Leonhart's perfectly bow-shaped lips were beckoning him to take a taste, begging to be claimed ruthlessly.

Squall tugged the ex-knight's shirt, urging the man lower. Rising to the balls of his feet, he strained higher to meet lips that were out of his reach.

Eyes widening, Seifer hesitated for a moment. The knowledge that Leonhart wanted him sent shivers through his body. Cupping the back of his rival's neck, he dipped lower and crushed earnest lips. Slipping his tongue inside the man's mouth, he delved deeply and without restraint. He couldn't stand to hold back any longer.

Giving a muffled sound of encouragement, Squall released the ex-knight's shirt. Sliding his arms around the man's neck, his fingers brushed through slightly damp blond hair.

Seifer had kept his desires chained during their spar, and he had hoped to prove himself capable of behaving relatively civilized. Instead, Leonhart had taunted him and tested him until he had no choice but to unleash everything. There was nothing civilized about the way his tongue invaded the brunet's mouth, roving every wet crevice in a desperate expression of unbridled lust.

Tongues twining, the two rivals groped each other in such a rough fashion that to an outsider it might appear that they were actually trying to devour each other. In a sense, they were devouring each other, both drawing on the others desires to amplify the flaring arousal between them.

Intoxicated by lust, Seifer barely managed to break away from Leonhart's mouth before suffocating. Panting to catch his breath, he attacked the slender throat he had been eyeing since first seeing Leonhart that day. Suckling along his rival's throat, he tasted faintly salty flesh.

Craning his head back, Squall gave the blond more room to mark him. He moaned without restraint when the man sucked his beating pulse. At the feel of grazing teeth, he would his arms around Seifer more tightly and clawed urgently at the man's broad back. Closing his eyes, he gave himself over to each sensation.

Seifer couldn't decide where he wanted to place his lips most. Returning to the brunet's kiss-bruised lips, he sampled the sweet flavor again. As he plundered Leonhart's inviting mouth, he slipped a hand beneath the hem of the man's t-shirt. The feel of his rival's skin was amazing. He relished every supple inch, groping and caressing firm flesh hungrily.

Once Seifer had tasted his fill, which was measured by how long his burning lungs could remain without oxygen, he broke away from the panting beauty's slick lips. He aimed lower and attacked the hollow of a filigree neckline. He nipped and sucked every exposed bit of milky skin that his greedy mouth could find. It had been a month since he had last tasted his rival. He was a starved man, unable to control how much he ate in a single sitting. His intentions in that moment were to ravish the man in his arms, and continue until they were joined in a naked heap of tangled limbs working towards orgasm in the middle of the stadium.

Squall shivered violently, his body practically shaking as pleasure coursed through him and danced along every synapse. His strength was slowly being drained. Seifer seemed to be sucking it out of him. As his knees became weaker, he instinctively sought to anchor himself. He wound one arm around the vigorous blond's neck, while his other hand gripped the man's left shoulder. Slick warmth coated his hand and the Seifer's body stiffened against his. He quickly released his hold on the injured arm, but didn't break away.

Inhaling sharply, Seifer stiffened at the painful reminder of his injury. Though he decided the cut was too minor to keep him from ravishing his rival, his senses returned before he could taste Leonhart's flesh again. He straightened up, but still held the brunet firmly. Gazing down at his handy work, he couldn't help but groan with the same longing he saw expressed in Leonhart's flushed face. He wanted to take the willing fighter, and repeatedly sully the man's body until he had spent every last bit of energy.

Taking quick, heated breaths, Squall stared into lust-filled green eyes. He suddenly felt extremely tired. The ex-knight had consumed all his strength. Nodding forward, he pressed his head against Seifer's solid chest. With his eyes closed, he rested while catching his breath. He had woken up that morning feeling refreshed, but felt ready to fall asleep that very moment. Giving a soft sigh, he wondered if it was the man's chest that made him feel so drowsy.

Unable to resist the temptation, Seifer let his arms encircled the smaller swordsman's lithe frame and squeeze as tightly as he dared. It seemed as though Leonhart might break if he held on too tightly. There was a strange sensation in his stomach, an odd flutter that he couldn't quite place. Closing his eyes, he welcomed the flood of warmth that washed over his body.

When the ensnaring scent of Leonhart's hair reached his nose, Seifer couldn't keep from petting the soft brown locks that smelled like the sun. His fingers delighted in the soft texture. Each silky strand seemed resistant to conformity, unwilling to be brushed into order. Leonhart wore it longer than when they were teenagers. Wayward strands spiked out, falling down the back of a delicate neck, shielding a vulnerable nape. He had seen the strands sopping wet, nearly reaching slender shoulders.

"Will you listen to my request?" Seifer asked quietly. Right then, he felt that he couldn't wait another second to reveal his intentions. He wanted Leonhart to know how he felt, even though he wasn't quite sure what it was he felt. Though his ploy had failed, he would not acknowledge any defeat.

Resting a moment longer, Squall didn't immediately absorb the ex-knight's words. Opening his eyes abruptly, he lifted his head and broke away. He gazed with a look of doubt and question. He thought he had already given into Seifer's request. In his mind, there had been a vague certainty that Seifer wanted sex.

"That wasn't what I wanted from you," Seifer said, referring to the heated kiss they had just shared.

Squall jerked away. Reality came crashing down atop his head and he was hit with the realization that he had initiated their lustful kiss, doing so without any excuses except his own desires. Abashedly, he moved away from the ex-knight. He was mortified at his own pretentious behavior.

Needing respite from the embarrassment he felt, Squall turned away and began walking towards the exit of the stadium's battlegrounds.

"Wait!" Seifer called out. Following the escaping swordsman, he caught up quickly and reached out to grab a swinging arm. "Hear me out," he demanded. He managed to latch onto a bony wrist.

Squall tugged his arm away. He continued to walk away, but only for a few short steps. Though he came to a stop, he kept his back to the blond.

Seifer could only assume that Leonhart was willing to listen to him. "I didn't ask you here for sex," he stated resolutely, as if he were a knight swearing his fealty.

Casting a cautious glance over his shoulder, Squall was speechless for many moments. "Then what?" he murmured. His gaze fell to the ground and he once again turned his back to the blond, as though ready to dash away any second. He couldn't bring himself to face Seifer. He had just made a complete fool of himself. It was strange how easily he became disconcerted. Normally, he wouldn't have cared.

"A date," Seifer declared, his voice seeming to echo through the open stadium. Making his stand, he elaborated, "I want to ask you out. This Friday, I want you with me when I open this training center. Afterwards, we'll go out for dinner."

Stunned, Squall stared wide-eyed towards the exit of the stadium grounds. He couldn't believe his ears. He must have misheard. Taking a faltering step, he turned and gazed sidelong at the ex-knight. Meeting grave green eyes, he realized he hadn't heard wrong. "What?" he mumbled, a dumbfounded numbness washing over him.

Assessing that it was safe to approach the swordsman who seemed frozen in place with shock, Seifer walked closer. Standing in front of the bewildered brunet, he said, "I'm asking you out on a date."

"But…" Squall knew there were a million reasons why none of what Seifer said made any sense, but he couldn't articulate any of the scattered thoughts in his head.

With a serious expression that made him appear stern, Seifer explained, "I knew how you'd respond, so I wanted to secure your cooperation any way necessary."

"So the spar…" Squall mumbled, barely capable of putting two and two together. He had known that Seifer wanted more than a spar. Sex would have been easier for him to negotiate.

Seifer nodded. "I suppose it wouldn't have mattered," he reasoned. "You still could have turned me down, but I knew giving you an excuse would help my chances." Although spoke of chance, he secretly knew he would have his way in the end. He would not be denied, no matter how ruthless he needed to become in his pursuits. To him, it was all a matter of patience. He didn't like to be kept waiting.

Squall was slow to process the blond's meaning. When the implication sunk in, he appeared slighted. Eyebrows furrowing and lips forming a tight frown, he scowled resentfully. "I need an excuse?" he intoned indignantly. He knew exactly what Seifer meant. Such pinpoint accuracy for how he felt struck a chord inside of him. He couldn't stand how easily his rival was capable of reading him.

Eyes narrowing, Seifer pointed out, "We both needed excuses, Leonhart. I needed my excuses to fuck you without seeming gay. You needed yours to make it seem like none of this was what you wanted."

Grey-blue eyes narrowed dangerously. Squall sent a silent warning for the ex-knight not to push him too far.

Rushing so early in the game could prove disastrous for Seifer. He had resolved to make his stand without pressing too hard. However, he would not remain silent while Leonhart pondered his request under false pretenses. He needed the brunet to reach the same conclusions he had, so he impressed his point that they couldn't carry on with excuses any longer. There would be no meaning in their dating if the mulish swordsman consented under the guise of an excuse. "You know it's true," he asserted firmly. "You ran out of excuses, so you took off and avoided me."

"Not seeing each other is for the best," Squall argued. The blond's raw words were true enough, but he didn't want to hear them.

Cutting the air with his hand, Seifer refuted, "Not anymore." Gazing earnestly into stormy blue eyes, he said, "I don't need an excuse to want to see you. I don't need an excuse to ask you out on a date."

Not wanting to hear any more, Squall turned his back to the blond once again. "I have to go."

Seifer's instinct was to reach out and pull Leonhart close. Demonstrating restraint, he balled his fists and remained firmly rooted. "I won't stop you," he announced. "But you can't run away from me forever."

Head bowed, Squall refuted, "I'm not running away." It was lie, and a poor one at that. He was running away as fast as his pride would allow. Seifer's words scared him. His own desires frightened him more than anything.

"You're scared Leonhart," Seifer said. "You're afraid to admit to yourself how you really feel."

"Stop," Squall hissed. Like a petulant child, he refused to listen.

Frowning, Seifer accepted that there was nothing he could say to convince the stubborn swordsman to face reality, at least not that day. He would have to be patient and bide his time while Leonhart came to terms with everything. He could only wait so long before snapping, at which time he might appease himself in taking Leonhart by force, which he knew would accomplish nothing. "I'm going to visit you tomorrow," he informed. "I want an answer by then." He was willing to wait twenty-four hours. If Leonhart hadn't come to terms with the notion that they liked each other, he would forcefully drive the man to reach a revelation.

"I have an answer," Squall muttered disdainfully. Unwilling to be backed into a corner, he rejected Seifer out of spite. "No," he said firmly, his tone holding such finality that he seemed to be rejecting all future requests for a date as well.

Seifer easily deduced that his rival was answering out of anger, but he felt the heavy weight of rejection settle in his chest all the same. He didn't want to be refused. "That's your fear talking," he countered, stubbornly refusing to accept any answer he received that day.

Squall lashed out, his temper ignited. Whipping around to face the insistent blond, he struck the man, punching the ex-knight's proud jaw. "Arrogant bastard!" he cursed vehemently. "If I say 'no,' then it's just my fear? How full of yourself can you get that you think I couldn't possibly…." Anxious fear and anger cut his vocal cords off, rending him incapable of speech. He acted out again, substituting biting words with ill-tempered action.

Seifer schooled his expression, feigning indifference to the pain throbbing along the left side of his face. When Leonhart threw another punch, he caught the wildly agitated brunet's fist. In the back of his mind, he was pleased to know Leonhart was so worked up. Yanking the man closer, he wound an arm around the man's frame and captured soft lips before any protest could be given.

Thrashing against the pompously arrogant ex-knight, Squall struggled to break free. Seifer only held him tighter, crushing his body with a single arm. Effectively pinned, his anger drained away as a slick tongue entered his mouth. It wasn't fair. A bitter knot formed in his stomach. Seifer knew his weakness and was using it as a means of controlling his emotions.

Sighing contently, Seifer released his feelings of exasperation. If kissing Leonhart didn't feel so damn good, he wouldn't bother involving himself with such a troublesome person. The proud lion was beyond obstinate. The brunet still hadn't accepted that the spark of attraction between them actually meant something. He couldn't exactly blame the man, especially since he had only recently graduated from his state of denial.

Brows drawn in distress, Squall kissed Seifer back grudgingly. He wanted to throttle the man, but his lips moved accordingly and his tongue twined with the insufferable blond's slick appendage.

Slowly, Seifer drew their kiss to an end. Sealing the exchange, he brushed his lips gently against Leonhart's. "I'll forgive you because you're probably in shock," he said breathily. "Tomorrow, I'll come to your place and we can talk more about where we go from here."

Anger returning, Squall reared back. He tore away from the ex-knight's embracing arms and glared at the man venomously. "You lost," he stated coldly. Turning around, he stalked towards the exit.

Seifer watched Leonhart walk away. He wanted to smirk confidently, but he couldn't. Leonhart had given him no indication of wanting more than sex. He had gone out on a limb and didn't know how he would be received the following day.

--

After leaving the training center, Squall drove without any particular destination in mind. He needed to be at Mercy High School for Lore's soccer game that evening, but it was only a few minutes after one o'clock and the game wasn't scheduled to start until four. Deciding that he needed to take some time to calm down, he drove to the cemetery in the fifty-second district where Cale was buried.

His head needed to be cleared. He longed to have a mission to distract his mind, and knew that with a quick phone call he could still deploy early the following morning.

Squall's wishful thoughts were unrealistic. If nothing else, his professionalism would keep him from ever making such a phone call to Cid. His need to find an escape made him unsuitable to lead a mission. In retrospect, it was best that he had caved to his son's wishes.

Standing before the grave of his former boyfriend, Squall gazed down at the rectangular mound. There was only a temporary marker in place as a headstone, a poor tribute to the man whose name it bore. The plastic nameplate staked into the ground was far too cheap for the quality of man Cale Bernhein had been. It would be another six months before a suitable headstone could be set in place.

A week ago, the grass had yet to fill out completely. Now the plush green blades thrived richly atop the grave and served to remind Squall of how time passed without regard for Cale. He had a clear memory of the high mound of freshly turned earth that marked the professor's burial sight. Now the mound was a grassy bump, slowly settling. When it was time to set the tombstone in place, there would be no distinguishing lines of demarcation.

Squall's chest ached to witness this. The regret he felt weighed heavily inside him, though the pain was becoming steadily duller and more distant. Eventually, he would visit Cale's grave and feel nothing at all.

He had formed the habit of visiting the cemetery, which was now Cale's cemetery in his mind. While Irvine and his son believed him to frequent the depressing grounds only once a week, it was usually three times that much.

Over the passed month, his days had remained relatively uneventful, which had brought him to the realization that there was a void in his life. He missed Cale's friendship. The professor had been a calming presence for him, someone he could spend time with and not feel obligated to act a certain way or speak a certain number of words. It had taken him seventeen years to achieve such comfort with his other friends. Cale had been special.

He knew that their compatibility was in part the result of Cale being in love him and wanting to accommodate him at every turn. He could only hope their friendship hadn't been a strain on the man.

With a forlorn sigh, Squall moved closer to Cale's grave. Stepping along its side, he avoided walking on top as though the man might feel it. Lowering himself to the ground, he settled beside the grassy mound. Surveying the area, his eyes saw numerous rows of graves, many of which were so ornate and unique that they were pleasing to look at.

Whenever he came to Cale's grave, all the words that ran unchecked through his head would pass through his lips and echo aloud for his own ears to hear. At first, he had been futilely trying to make up for the countless words he had never spoken to the professor when the man was still alive. It had evolved into a form of therapy, a way to unload his worries. He found relief in being able to speak freely without receiving a response or standing judgment.

"I don't know what I'm doing anymore," Squall admitted in a near whisper.

Sitting silently for a moment, he stared off in lost reverie. He slowly opened himself up and allowed the absurdity of his actions to slip away.

"I should never have been with him from the start," he stated. A knot of guilt tightened in his chest. Talking about Seifer while visiting Cale's grave felt taboo, but he only had a single matter on his mind.

Hugging his knees to his chest, he bowed his head and sat in reflection. He had lost his wits in front Seifer. The ex-knight had successfully pushed him over the edge and he had run off with his tail tucked between his legs. "He was right about everything," he muttered ruefully.

Glancing up, he scanned the gloomy sky along the flat horizon. Though the cemetery was quite large, he could still see the dusty red dessert of Esthar's surrounding outer zone. In time, the cemetery would extend farther out, until there was no seeing beyond its boundaries.

The change between the city and the outer limits was drastic, as different as day was from night. The cemetery was ironically rich with life. There were tall trees, hilly slopes, and soft grass blanketing the entire area. It was a manmade environment. Esthar's technology allowed the city to thrive beautifully within a wasteland. Only within the outer districts was it apparent by comparison just how artificial the landscape was.

Running a hand through his hair, Squall brushed back wayward bangs that obscured his vision. His real interest in the scenery was the sky. Heavy grey clouds were moving in fast from the north. The air already smelled like rain. It would be a cold rain coming from Trabian seas. Spring was reluctant to release its hold even in mid-July. Esthar's summers were like spring in Balamb, the northern continent open to the cold air currents from Trabia's northernmost waters.

Taking a deep breath, Squall confessed, "I'm afraid of him." He paused for a long moment, letting the meaning behind his words wash over him. Tentatively, he spoke further on the subject. "I can't understand what it is that attracts me to him. He hasn't changed any in ten years. Why do I want to be near him so badly?"

The wind answered Squall's rhetorical question. The air rushed past him, howling in a distantly tinny voice for a moment before dying down.

"I have no control over myself when I'm around him. It's beyond unsettling."

Lapsing into silence, Squall didn't speak for a long while. The minutes passed unnoticed and his eyes kept watch on the approaching rain clouds. The dark and heavy underbelly of the grey masses was ominous. The clouds were roiling in at such a fast pace that he wondered if the rain were actually coming in the form of a storm.

He hadn't checked the weather forecast for the day, but he did recall his son's words from that morning. The boy had expressed some concern over whether the soccer match that coming evening would be canceled due to rain. Though it had seemed unlikely with such sunny and clear skies throughout the morning and into the afternoon, he began to wonder what changes those heavy clouds might bring.

Through the white, wispy clouds directly above, the sun shone strongly and invited Squall to lie back on the grass before the sky became completely overcast. Despite the appeal of basking in the remaining rays of sun, he stayed posed in his huddled position. Appearing thoughtful, he continued to stare off towards the horizon.

At length, he spoke again, his voice cracking slightly after a long bout of silence. "He wants to go on a date," he said evenly, his words neither a statement nor a question. If his arm weren't still sore from being hit during the spar, he would have thought that the whole affair had simply been a dream.

"That scares me more than anything," he concluded. He was afraid of what it would mean if he dated Seifer. The reception such a relationship would receive was not his real concern. His son had simultaneously condoned and condemned any future suitors he might have, with Seifer named specifically.

"A relationship with Seifer," he murmured, wondering how the words sounded when spoken. A small tremor ran through his body. He didn't know what such a reaction meant. The prospect of even a single date with Seifer was scary in its appeal and the obvious possibility that it might lead to something serious.

He had avoided the man after their unforgettable night together because he wasn't the sort of person who could become physically involved without having some emotional investment. Seifer's embracing arms had inadvertently become a safe haven for him. Even after his grief had subsided enough to allow normal passage through each day, the thought of having the ex-knight's arms around him sent excited shivers down his spine.

"When I'm with him, I don't want to leave," Squall said, hanging his head in a downtrodden manner.

A gale of wind kicked up. The sound of rustling tree branches and leaves tolled the approaching storm clouds. Though his face was shielded, Squall's hair danced around as it was licked in several directions at once.

He knew he couldn't stay much longer, but felt disinclined to moving from his hillside perch. There were too many thoughts he hadn't sorted through yet. Despite his initial reservations in baring his soul to the deceased professor's grave, it was a strange new comfort for him.

Remaining silently thoughtful, Squall continued to reflect on his encounter with Seifer. The spar had been pleasant enough, especially since he had won. As he tried to determine where everything had taken a turn for the worse, he was left with the conclusion that Seifer hadn't actually been caustic.

He had become flustered and embarrassed all on his own. His reactions had been extreme, whereas the bullying blond had been surprisingly docile.

Chagrinned, Squall realized he had behaved very poorly. His emotions had gotten the best of him, driving him to lash out in an immature manner. If he weren't so certain that some of the blame was still owed to Seifer, then he would have thought the man deserving of an apology.

With fluid grace, Squall unfolded his limbs and stood slowly from the ground. If he didn't leave soon, he wouldn't have enough time to run his errands before Lore's soccer match. He also didn't want to be caught in the rain.

--

Squall ruffled his damp hair as he rode the elevator up to his apartment. Though the wet weather was not unexpected, he had not found an umbrella in his car. After leaving the cemetery, he had gone to the grocery store to pick up a few items for dinner that night. He had enough time to stop home and put everything away before he needed to run out again for Lore's game.

Struck by the thought that the game might be canceled, or delayed until the rain let up, Squall had his cell phone out and was speed dialing his son's number as he keyed in the lock's code to the apartment door.

To his surprise, Squall soon found his son seated on the couch in the living room. The boy turned from the television and regarded him with a welcoming smile.

"Our game was cancelled," Lore informed. Hopping up from his seat, he flicked the TV off and rounded the couch to follow his father into the kitchen.

"Does your grandpa know?" Squall inquired impassively, setting his armload of groceries on the island counter.

"Yeah, he called a little bit ago to say he would show up late, and I told him then."

Taking a short breather to gather his thoughts, Squall stood while blankly staring at the paper grocery bags that needed to be unpacked.

"Something wrong?" Lore questioned, studying his father's face.

Smiling softly, Squall shook his head automatically. Lifting his eyes, he met his son's concerned expression and continued to smile gently at the boy. He reached out to ruffle spiky raven hair, his usual manner of greeting reserved only for Lore.

Concerns disappearing, Lore reveled in the brief contact initiated by his father. Satisfied that all was well, he grinned broadly and launched into detail about his day.

TBC…

Author's note: -- it seems backwards that the holidays bring me less time to write than when I was scrambling to finish work for the end of the semester. There was actually more to this chapter, but it was running long and it seemed forever since I last updated, so things will just continue from this point in the next chapter. I've finally got Squall on track for facing reality. Yay for progress! I hope everyone has a great new year.


	36. Chapter 36

Defining Love

Chapter Thirty-Six

Preparing dinner, Squall stood in front of the counter beside the stove, slicing a red pepper with an experienced hand. He paused abruptly, his hand stilling in mid air, the knife's edge hovering without a set destination. His mind filled with thoughts of his latest encounter with Seifer.

At the kitchen's dining table, Lore sat in a chair, one leg folded beneath him as he pored over his homework for the night. He was relieved to be caught up with all the schoolwork he had missed following Cale's death, but with less than two weeks before the end of his sophomore year, there was no reprieve from looming final exams.

Despite being engrossed in an annoyingly complicated trig problem, Lore still caught the lack of his father's movement out of the corner of his eye. He wasn't particularly interested in what his father was doing, although enticing smells filled the air, but there was a comfort in absently hearing the self-assured man move about the kitchen. The lack of noise and movement was what distracted him from his work, so he glanced over.

Finding his father stationed as though frozen in a single instance, Lore frowned. "Dad?" he called, wondering at the man's vacant expression.

Stirring from his thoughts, Squall's hand automatically set the knife down on the chopping board. Glancing sidelong at his son, he intoned a quiet note of question. "Hm?"

Brows furrowing for a moment, Lore shook his head. "Nothing, you just seemed lost for a minute."

Giving a small shrug of dismissal, Squall simply said, "Dinner will be ready in an hour."

Lore hesitantly returned to his homework, casting concerned glances towards the other end of the kitchen every so often.

--

Seifer absently ran an index finger along his bottom lip, his eyes scanning the lines of text he had written. He was working on a speech he would be giving that coming Friday, when he opened his training center. It was a tedious affair, but he couldn't shun the business side of his venture when his business had yet to prove profitable. He needed to make a good impression, which meant reminding his investors how charming he was.

As he lifted a pen to mark his work, Seifer realized what his other hand was doing to his lip. Ceasing the movement, he stared accusatorially at the fingers of his left hand. The feel of Leonhart's lips was not easily forgotten and even when he forced the brunet's face from his mind, the sensation and taste lingered hauntingly.

Balling his fist, he lowered his hand slowly. He forced his thoughts back to his speech, knowing any further reflection on his day's encounter with the elusive swordsman would wear down what little patience he had left.

Running a frustrated hand through his hair, Seifer gave a gruff sigh. His phone rang, vibrating along the coffee table in turn with the ringing. Just as another series of rings began, he snatched the device up and answered the call.

"Yeah?" he bit out without checking the caller ID.

"Hey man!" Raijin greeted enthusiastically. "I can't tell right from left in this city. If I'm by the shiny metal building shaped like a giant sphere, how do I get to your place?"

Chuckling at the sound of his friend's flustered voice, Seifer sank back against the couch. "You're close. If that building is on your right, go the next intersection."

There was a short pause before Raijin spoke again. "Okay, which lane?"

"Keep going straight," Seifer instructed.

"I knew we had the right street," Raijin declared victoriously. A moment later, he intoned an injured grunt of pain.

Seifer quirked a single blond eyebrow and wondered at Fujin's infliction of pain on Raijin.

"Where to next?" Raijin asked dejectedly.

"Keep straight for another three blocks. You'll recognize my building from what I told you."

"Okay, we'll be there in like a few minutes, ya know."

--

Lore closed his math textbook, glad to be done with numbers for the night. With mouthwatering scents in the air, he knew dinner was almost ready. As he hastened to clear his spread of work from the table, he noticed his father standing still once again.

Growing concerned at the continued absentmindedness his father displayed, Lore shoved his textbooks and notebooks into his backpack, and set the bag on the floor beside his chair. Standing up, he said, "Dad, what's wrong?"

Staring vacantly at the sautéing vegetables in a wok on the stove, Squall neglected to add the already cooked strips of chicken at the right time. While he remained oblivious to the world around him, his mind was centered Seifer and what it would be like to date the insufferable man.

Approaching his father, Lore said louder than before, "Dad, what's wrong?"

Squall started in surprise, turning quickly to face his son. "Sorry, what?"

"What's wrong?" Lore pressed. His brows were knit in a concerned expression and his eyes studied the former commander with stubborn resolve to help in some way.

Squall knew all of his son's expressions well. The boy sensed an underlying cause for his air-headed distraction and would not rest until he gave a suitable explanation.

"Did something happen during the spar?" Lore inquired intuitively. He only knew the finer details of the spar. He was sore to have missed it, but there was no excitement in simply hearing what had happened, so he had been satisfied with the knowledge that the arrogant knight had lost.

Once again aware of his surroundings, Squall tore his attention from the concerned youth and hastily added the meat to the stir-fry. Tossing the contents together with a wooden spoon, he saved the vegetables from withering to mush and the chicken from having too little time to heat through again.

After adjusting the heat beneath the wok, he regarded his son and attempted to explain his peculiar behavior. His candor would not be appreciated if his explanation were simply that he couldn't stop thinking about Seifer. "After the spar," he began slowly, taking his time to produce the right words, "Seifer said some things that have been on my mind."

"What things?" Lore pressed, unable to let the matter rest with such a vague answer.

Squall stared into expectant blue-green eyes and waited for the right words to come to him again. When none came, he tried to force an explanation out. The result of his forced explanation was a sad attempt to sugar coat what the ex-knight wanted from him. "He wanted to arrange a meeting, some time together this Friday."

Lore opened his mouth to question what his father meant, but his mind connected the dots before he could make a sound. Eyes going wide, he exclaimed dubiously, "He asked you out!?"

Squall fought the urge to cringe. "In a manner of speaking," he confirmed.

"As in a date?" Lore intoned, his temper bordering on outrage.

--

"A date!?" Raijin intoned incredulously. He dabbed a napkin at his mouth, having just sputtered his drink over his lips.

Seifer laughed without restraint, his voice rich and deep. Raijin and Fujin had arrived at his apartment safely and were now seated beside each other on a three-seat couch in the living room of his recently leased apartment. The expecting couple would remain with him through the weekend. They were there to attend the grand opening of his training center, and to catch up after more than a month apart.

"That's not funny," Raijin muttered, wiping the front of his shirt with the same napkin. "I mean, sometimes I don't get your sense of humor, ya know?"

"Raijin," Seifer began after his laughter died off, "it's only funny because it's true." This caught both his friends' attention. It was more difficult admitting his feelings to those he knew than it would have been to complete strangers. Telling his friends as soon as they settled in was the only way to give them enough time to adjust to the bizarre and unexplored change of events in his life, time enough to not gawk at him during the opening ceremony when his hands would undoubtedly stray to grope his date's body.

"Explain," Fujin commanded tersely. Seated next to her husband, her hand unconsciously rubbed along her swollen belly.

Seifer scratched his chin and glanced from one face to the next. "It's a long story," he warned.

"It's still early where we came from, ya know?" Raijin said, giving the go ahead. He stared curiously at the unusually solemn swordsman.

Clearing his throat, Seifer launched into a very brief version of what had happened since his move to Esthar. "Do you remember how I was pissed about Leonhart dating some college professor and not even giving me a second glance?"

Raijin gave a small nod, recalling the insanity that had last visited him in Fisherman's Horizon. He had thought it all a simple matter of Seifer's bruised ego needing a little time to heal.

Seifer informed, "I tried seducing Leonhart, just to prove I could."

Scoffing in disbelief, Raijin chortled as various images formed in his head of Seifer putting the moves on the ice prince from Balamb. It was a culmination of awkward endings.

Growing less modest about his recent dalliances with Leonhart, Seifer straightened in his armchair and grinned as though seducing the frigid ice prince was something to boast about. "As it turns out, it didn't take much to get him hot and bothered for me. The real issue is that it didn't take much for me either."

There was a bout of silence. Finally, Raijin spoke when it became apparent the ex-knight wasn't joking. "Are you serious?" he remarked with a cringe. "You slept with him? Like even though he's a guy, ya know?"

Seifer shook his head and continued to grin. "He's the best fucking lay I've ever had," he admitted bluntly. "I can't explain how it happened. Maybe it was always there."

Eyes wide, Raijin tried to absorb what the ex-knight was saying. "What was always there?"

"The attraction," Seifer asserted, inching forward in his chair and regarding his friends squarely. "At first, I tried kissing him to make a point, but I couldn't stop."

"Oh Hyne," Raijin muttered. A dull throb in his head told him he was thinking too hard.

Sighing, Seifer took a moment to reflect on what he had just told his friend. "I can't explain it," he added with a shake of his head. "It's absolutely insane, but he's fucking amazing in bed." He was disinclined to admit that sex was no longer the only reason he pursued his rival. Still, he hadn't explained why he was going on a date with Leonhart, if in fact such a thing could be explained.

"This is Leonhart you're talking about, ya know?" Raijin commented.

"I'm not saying I'm in love with the guy. He's still cold as ice, but I think you two can agree that his attitude towards me is largely the result of what I do to him. He's a hell of a lot warmer than he lets on." Taking a pause, Seifer added, "I set myself up for a fall. I got hooked."

"Hooked?" Raijin reiterated incredulously. If not for the faintly painful pounding in his head and continued throbbing of the shoulder his wife had punched earlier, he would have thought himself to be asleep at that moment.

"I can't sleep with anyone else," Seifer explained. "I've tried." A thoughtful expression came to his face. "There are things about him, things I never really noticed until I noticed that they weren't things anyone else had." Inwardly cringing at how he sounded, he tried to rephrase his nonsensical ranting. "I tried hooking up with some high class women, but each of them was always missing something that Leonhart had."

"That's why some guys have to settle, ya know?" Raijin advised. He hastily tagged on, "Not that I ever had to settle, but a lot of people do."

"That's what I thought too," Seifer agreed wholeheartedly. He had tried to overlook the flaws he had found in potential female bedmates, since it had felt like his own sullen nitpicking, but he had discovered the pathetic reality of what happened when he tried sleeping with someone who wasn't Leonhart.

"So what's this business about dating Leonhart?" Raijin inquired. Out of the corner of his eyes, he caught his wife's agreeing nod.

Heaving a heavy sigh, Seifer stared into his burly friend's dark brown eyes. Glancing to Fujin, he caught her crimson eye and held it for a long moment. "I'm telling you this in confidence. Esthar would make a fugitive out of me if word spread that I was banging the president's golden son."

"Just another reason why all of this makes so much sense," Raijin muttered sarcastically. "If anyone likes to brag, it's you my friend."

"Yeah, well I know when not to run my mouth off," Seifer defended.

"We got it, ya know? You're nailing someone a lot of people would come after you for." Raijin glanced to his wife. "It's not like we would want to run around telling anyone about this anyway, ya know?"

Seifer's eyes darted surreptitiously around the room, as though he feared being overheard. "The reason I can't settle is because the last time I tried, I couldn't."

Raijin's face expressed complete confusion. "You wanna like expand on that a little?"

Fujin set her hand on her husband's knee and gently squeezed. She shook her head in gesture for him not to make the blond swordsman clarify his words.

After several lost moments, Raijin realized his blond buddy was referring to impotency. He bristled uncomfortably, not knowing what to make of his heterosexual friend's confession.

Spotting an opportunity to make a sport out of his confessional instead of being made sport of, Seifer elaborated to an unnecessary degree. "I still find women attractive, but Leonhart is in a whole different class. The way he smells is always ridiculously good. No one else smells like he does." Seeing his strictly heterosexual pal blanch at his words, he remarked, "You would think his skin was rough and mottled from fighting, but it's so smooth and soft." When Raijin appeared near an apoplectic attack, he finished, "Nothing compares to how tight his pert little ass-"

"Enough!" Fujin barked. She held her hand up in a pleading gesture for Seifer to stop explaining. She was on the brink of going into early labor.

"In a lot of ways, this would be a totally funny joke, ya know?" Raijin commented. "But, you're a little too convincing man, so it's like just creepy."

"Creepy," Seifer snipped. His eyes narrowed and he stood from his seat abruptly. "There's nothing creepy about it. I assumed I could talk to you guys about this."

Raijin stared into the jade-green eyes of his blond buddy. "You're seriously serious?" he murmured, at a complete loss. Glancing to his side, he shared a confused and uncertain look with his wife.

--

"Are you serious?" Lore intoned with continued disbelief. Turning from his father, he stalked away several steps before rearing back around and declaring, "I knew it. I knew something like this would happen."

"What?" Squall questioned, growing rather confused himself.

"You," Lore said with an ebullient wave of his hand.

Squall simply frowned and waited for enlightenment.

"You're you, and can't help it, but it's like one of those things where if a person tries it then they have to buy it because they suddenly realize what they've been missing even though they don't deserve to make any purchases."

At this point, Squall began to wonder if he had made a mistake in telling his son. The boy was more upset than he had anticipated, spouting complete nonsense.

"Are you going?" Lore asked. If his father was so hung up on the matter, it could only mean the man was giving it some serious consideration.

"I don't know," Squall admitted. After a moment, he corrected, "Probably." He was more than likely to accept a date with Seifer. After leaving the training center, his anger and outrage had subsided, leaving him with an even tempered rationale.

"I thought you weren't seeing him anymore," Lore said. "I was surprised you sparred with him today."

"I haven't set the best example for you," Squall confessed. "Writing a person off like I did to Seifer is wrong, no matter what he did or said. Working the issues out is how an adult handles things."

"That guy's way of handling things involves sex," Lore grumbled.

"Lore," Squall said in a scolding tone.

Scowling, Lore grudgingly mumbled, "Sorry, that was crass."

"Seifer's intentions may not be pure, but they aren't sinister."

Groaning in frustration, Lore locked eyes with his father. "Hyne, what I wouldn't give to be having this argument about Cale," he said in a moment of carelessness. Eyes widening, he immediately wished he could retract his words.

Squall hid his hurt. "You and me both," he murmured quietly.

"Dad, I didn't mean it like that."

"The lesser evil, I get it," Squall assured.

Lore remonstrated, "I know it sounds hypocritical, but when I said it's okay to be with someone I don't like, I was hoping you would end up ignoring Seifer for the rest of your life."

Squall nodded in understanding. "I enjoy sparring with him," he reminded.

Seeing a window of opportunity to haggle his father's relationship with Seifer down a notch, Lore declared, "Sparring partners is something I can live with."

Squall expressed his truest feelings on the matter. "I'd like to explore what else there might be." He wasn't looking for a committed relationship. He wanted to join Seifer on Friday because his fear and denial had been replaced by curiosity.

"You mean, you want to go on a date," Lore surmised with a morose demeanor.

"Yes," Squall confirmed.

"If I were any less hungry, I'd be going to bed early," Lore grumbled as he turned away and stalked towards the table.

Squall watched his son for a moment before turning his attention to the sizzling stir-fry. Adding soy sauce to the mix, he continued to fuss over the meal with slouched shoulders. Without warning, he was assaulted from behind by a glomping teen.

"Just to be clear," Lore said as he hugged his father, "I'll love you no matter what."

Squall patted the boy's hands. "Same here," he returned.

Slipping away, Lore returned to his sullen state. "This isn't over. It's only Monday. I have until Friday to talk you out of this."

--

Dressed sharply in a pair of slate grey slacks and untucked wine red dress shirt, Seifer knocked on Leonhart's apartment door. He had barely managed to wait until noon.

Squall answered the door, his expression seeming strained for the simple action. He stood for a moment, staring at the face of the man he simultaneously wanted to strike and kiss.

Seifer met unreadable grey-blue eyes and longed to know what the brunet was thinking. Raking his eyes up and down Leonhart's form, he saw his rival casually dressed in blue jeans and baggy grey hoodie. Though the man's neck was visible, the enticing hollow and collar line were covered from his lusting view.

From within the apartment the stove's timer went off, drawing Squall's attention away from his roguishly handsome visitor. Stepping back, he turned and walked off towards the kitchen, leaving Seifer unattended and with no invitation inside.

Seifer sighed as he stepped inside Leonhart's humble abode. His eyes involuntarily ogled the brunet's pert rear end, which was another feature of the former commander's physique that peaked his carnal interest. Sadly, the oversized hoodie and loose waist of the jeans left most of the sightseeing up to his well-informed imagination. As he followed his rival, he wondered if the stubborn swordsman had purposely worn such concealing clothes.

Sniffing the air as he was assaulted with a variety of pleasant scents, Seifer tried to guess what wafted in from the kitchen. He followed Leonhart with aroused curiosity.

In the kitchen, Squall stopped the timer and killed the heat beneath a pan of roasting walnuts. Lore's soccer match had been rescheduled for that afternoon. For reasons he suspected had to do with attaining more of his time and devotion, he had become the host of a prospective victory party for Lore and some of the teen's friends on the team. Since a party needed food, he had spent the morning in the kitchen, dreading what the ex-knight would make of his baking exploits upon arriving. Though he was loath to stoop to any indirect method of redemption, he hoped to reclaim some good grace with Lore for his efforts. He had decided to concede to Seifer's request and go out on a date with the ex-knight, and his son knew of this decision.

When Seifer entered Leonhart's kitchen, his steps faltered as soon as he caught sight of the mounds of baked goods on the table. The room was at least ten degrees warmer than the rest of the apartment and he suspected that heat had poured from the oven all morning.

Chuckling darkly, Seifer glanced around with delighted mischief in his eyes.

While Squall shuffled the walnuts on the skillet, he rolled his eyes. Even with his back to the ex-knight, he knew what expression the man wore.

Seifer's mind quickly concluded that Leonhart's clothes were indeed meant to ward him off and deter any miscreant behavior. In a room so warm, no one would have willingly donned such heavy clothing.

"What?" Squall prompted when no verbal comment came from the blond. He didn't bother turning around.

With a grin in place, Seifer muttered, "It's nothing. I just don't envy you is all."

Squall stiffened. Setting the pan back down with a clatter, he turned around and leveled the amused blond with a stern gaze. "This is who I am," he declared defiantly. "I'm a father."

"So I've noticed," Seifer commented diffidently, unable to read where the brunet was coming from.

Crossing his arms, Squall said, "I'll go out with you on Friday." At the sight of Seifer's knowing smile, he added, "I assume you anticipated my answer."

"I had high hopes," Seifer corrected. "I don't boast to know much of anything that goes through your head."

Chin lifted defiantly, Squall stared for a long moment into jade-green eyes. "I don't trust you," he stated, his gaze bordering on a glare. "I don't know what you're after. It was just sex at first, some way for you to prove yourself. I don't trust your motives, but I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. I'll warn you now that if you compromise my relationship with my son, then I'm through with you." He took a deep breath after speaking, finding the action more taxing than most. There was a lot he wanted to say.

Seifer wasn't sure how Leonhart had managed to ruin his pleasure in wrangling a date. He frowned while standing under the stern gaze of steely blue eyes. "I'd be the first to admit that my motives in the past haven't always been pure, but what exactly are you doubting?"

Squall's expression became one of wry humor. "What could I possibly doubt when _you_ ask _me _out?" he muttered sarcastically.

Laughing, Seifer nodded in agreement. Moving across the kitchen, he approached the brunet slowly. "You do have a point," he said after his amusement subsided. "There's nothing I can do about not having your trust, but I'll have it one of these days."

Pressing back against the counter's edge, Squall stared searchingly into bright green eyes. "Lore doesn't like you," he reminded. Letting his gaze fall, he looked thoughtfully towards the floor. "For anything beyond this Friday, he has to approve. I won't date someone my son hates."

Stilling his approach, Seifer felt as though an invisible wall had instantly been erected between him and the object of his desires. Clearing his throat, he questioned, "Does your kid run your life?"

Squall gazed at the blond with steadfast eyes. "Lore is my life," he murmured quietly.

As he fought the urge to take a step back, Seifer was reminded of the baggage his rival came with. If he were capable of turning his attention to someone else, someone less complicated and not male, then he would have. He wasn't capable though. He wanted Leonhart, no matter the cost. Making nice with the kid would be a small price to pay for taking Leonhart home at night.

Remaining complacently still, Squall didn't move when the ex-knight sauntered closer. Head tilted back, he gazed up at the tall blond and waited for the man's response.

"I read you loud and clear," Seifer assured. Towering over the brunet, he set his hands on either side of slim hips and leaned down. He captured bowed lips, brashly claiming them without permission. Sliding a knee between Leonhart's legs, he pressed closer.

Growing excited, Squall's loins began to throb at the feel of the blond's thigh brushing between his legs. A foreign tongue invaded his mouth, smoothly gliding against his own in gyrating tandem. He had never been particularly partial to kissing, especially the physically disappointing pecks of greeting and parting. Kissing Seifer was like having sex. It was nearly as satisfying, though perhaps not quite as fulfilling. The exchange was hot and wet, and made his entire body convulse with blind pleasure and abandonment.

When the brunet shivered, Seifer asked, "What do you feel?"

"Hm?" Squall intoned softly. Strangely, his mind wasn't entirely blank. His body vibrated pleasantly and his thoughts weren't exactly sharp, but he felt unusually lucid compared to the blithering mess he usually became when kissing Seifer.

Kissing Leonhart harder, Seifer wrapped his arms around the reciprocating creature's lithe body. Slipping his tongue deeper, he gave credence to the term 'tonsil hockey.'

Melting against the ex-knight, Squall quickly realized the blond's touch held the same affect as usual. His thoughts scattered, fleeing to the far reaches of his mind as his handsome partner filled his head, not to mention his mouth.

Seifer could feel every hitch of breath and subtle shiver. With such delicious responses from his rival, he felt an unreasonable desire to know why Leonhart reacted so sensitively. "What do you feel?"

Though he had no intention of answering, Squall was pressed to reply when Seifer squeezed him tightly and denied him a kiss. "Hot," he answered shortly, unable to conceive a more articulate response for how he felt whenever Seifer touched him. He squirmed within a tight embrace and strained higher, successfully capturing the ex-knight's parted lips.

As a tremor coursed through his body, Seifer imagined he knew exactly how Leonhart felt. There was something unnerving about how perfectly his rival molded against his chest and fit inside his encompassing arms. Their bodies fit together with seamless comfort.

After thoroughly ravishing the brunet, Seifer broke away with a slick lipped grin. "You taste like chocolate," he commented. Casting a covert glance towards the table at the other end of the kitchen, he observed an array of dishes. "And cherries," he added.

"What's all this baking for?" Seifer inquired. Not ready to feel any distance form between them just yet, he dipped his head low and nudged until he received access to Leonhart's neck. Brushing his lips across smooth skin, he silently inhaled a deep breath and savored his rival's scent. It was entirely sweet, as though sugar hung in the air and clung to the baker's skin after hours of exposure.

Head falling to his shoulder, Squall exposed his neckline as best he could, baring it to the blond's lustful administrations. Gasping quietly when the ex-knight yanked aside the shrouding collar of his bulky hoodie, he felt his knees go weak when feverish lips were at the hollow of his throat. "My son," he managed to answer, scarcely able to form the words.

Seifer grumbled a deep note of acknowledgment, his manner between understanding and disapproval. If Leonhart could retain thoughts of the kid at such a moment, then that wall he had felt erected between them was going to be harder to knock down than he had originally anticipated. The brat whose hereditary makeup resembled his own could prove a formidable opponent in vie for Leonhart's affections.

A blur of grey material obscured Squall's vision for a moment, and then his hoodie lay in a heap on the floor. The ex-knight seemed intent on doing more than just kissing, and he could think of no reason to protest.

Seifer reached over towards the stovetop and turned the dial for the oven off. "It's been too long," he said, his tone deep with longing.

Nodding faintly, Squall silently agreed. Despite having reservations over dating the ex-knight, the green light for sex was undoubtedly a reason to admit his own denial and move past it. He reached out and grasped the dress shirt that kept the ex-knight's enviously sculpted body from view. Nimble fingers hastily began to unbutton Seifer's shirt. Every inch of tanned flesh exposed excited his own arousal.

Speeding up the undressing process, Seifer pulled his shirt overhead. Casting the unnecessary garment aside, he turned his attention to his rival's regrettably covered body.

"The bedroom," Squall directed. He slipped from between the counter and Seifer, evading grasping hands that were likely to tease him until he relented to simply fornicate on the kitchen floor.

Close to follow, Seifer stopped abruptly in the kitchen's entryway. "Which one?" he questioned.

Already half way across the living room, Squall glanced back at the topless blond with abs of steel and seriously considered jumping the man where he stood. Swallowing thickly, he replied, "What?"

"Which bedroom?" Seifer rephrased.

"End of the hall," Squall answered, not knowing what the blond was really asking.

With a shake of his head, Seifer stalked closer. "No." Taking hold of the brunet, he led the man to the hallway leading off the spacious living room.

"Seifer," Squall raised in protest as he tugged his hand away.

Turning around swiftly, Seifer pressed Leonhart against the wall and silenced the man with a kiss. He had secured a date for that Friday, and had suddenly grown rather greedy. Venturing to have sex after their bellicose encounter the previous day already seemed to push the envelope, but he wanted to push even more and demand a place in Leonhart's bed.

Squall ran his fingers over the sun-kissed skin of Seifer's bare chest. "What are you after?" he inquired quietly, his voice coaxing in its softness.

"When I figure that out, I'll let you know," Seifer assured. Sealing the brunet's plush lips, he kept them from making further inquiry into his intentions. With his arms firmly wrapped around his rival's body, he slowly moved towards the first doorway on the right.

Pushing back, Squall forced his way out of muscular arms. Sending a clear message, he made his way farther down the hall while pulling his t-shirt overhead and letting it dropped carelessly to the floor. He refused to have sex with Seifer in the same bed his son had crawled into at night as a child.

Wistfully, Seifer watched as Leonhart disappeared inside the bedroom at the end of the hallway. The distance between the two rooms was insignificant, but there was a subtext of meaning that he wanted to explore. He conceded defeat, recalling his rival's declaration of distrust.

As he trailed to catch up, Seifer made it his new goal to give Leonhart better memories of sex in the guest room.

--

After a pleasantly strenuous workout, Seifer lay asleep in Leonhart's guest bed. Despite the early hour, a catnap had been agreeable. Sleeping was a natural post-coital activity for him.

Waking up was a less than satisfying affair. He found himself alone, his dark haired companion having slipped away undetected. Sitting upright abruptly, he sheets pooled at his waist. After gruffly rubbing his face and smoothing back disheveled strands of silky blond hair, he peered around the empty room in a hopeless attempt to locate his partner.

"Leonhart?" he called out, wondering where the sexy minx had run off to. When no immediate response came, the urge to set out in pursuit grew irrepressible.

Seifer was out of bed and zipping up his pants in record timing. It wasn't until he had reached the hallway that he realized Leonhart had no reason to run off or even a place to go. If the slowly adjusting swordsman had fled the scene, then he simply needed to stay put in order to see the man again.

Assessing the time by his wristwatch, Seifer determined that it was a few minutes after two o'clock. Barefoot and shirtless, he made his way down the hall. Common sense told him to search the bathroom first, where a proud brunet would likely be washing away all vestiges of immoral behavior. Instinct directed him elsewhere.

Seifer crept silently into the kitchen. A damp haired brunet stood before an open window, staring thoughtfully at the world outside. Spotting his discarded dress shirt neatly folded on the edge of the table, he grinned. If he weren't undeniably aroused by Leonhart's domestic tendencies, he would have opened fire with an unending series of sarcastic remarks.

With a mug of steaming tea in one hand, Squall turned and cast an acknowledging glance over his shoulder. He met intense green eyes briefly before turning back and gazing out the window.

Snatching his shirt up, Seifer slipped into the rich colored fabric, neglecting to button it. Stealthily approaching Leonhart from behind, he slid his arms around a narrow waist and pressed close. He chuckled when the man stiffened in surprise, his spooning action obviously unanticipated.

Squall remained silent. He had nothing worth saying and even less worth doing that would warrant his presence elsewhere. Lore's match wasn't for another three hours and he had already gone overboard with the party snacks. He had considered paying a visit to Cale's grave, but reconsidered since his mind was still completely filled with Seifer. It seemed more appropriate to deal with Seifer, instead of running away.

Hugging Leonhart tightly from behind, Seifer bowed his head and let it rest against a delicate shoulder. He inhaled the scent of recently washed hair and skin, a scent so pleasing to him that he could not suppress a soft groan.

A strange and unfamiliar warmth spread through Squall's body. Tentatively, he raised his free hand. His fingers extended towards the blond's resting head. Only once did he draw back in hesitation before plunging his fingers into silky hair. He ruffled soft strands gently. The action stirred foreign emotions inside him, triggering a lurking fear of the unknown. He swallowed thickly and mustered his courage, continuing to rake his finger through Seifer's hair as the man silently allowed him to do so.

Seifer's arms involuntarily wound tighter, no doubt inflicting an uncomfortable amount of compression on his complacent rival. He buried his face in the crook of Leonhart's neck and hummed a deep note of approval, the sound practically a purr of encouragement. Sensing the man was about to stop, he murmured, "That feels good." He grinned when gentle fingers continued to run through his hair.

Taking a cautious sip of his tea, Squall became absorbed in the repetitious action of brushing the ex-knight's hair. He didn't know why he had done it, just that it felt appropriately intimate for the calm moment they shared.

An attention grabbing cough sounded from near the kitchen's entrance. "Am I interrupting something?" Irvine inquired in a passively aggressive tone.

Squall dropped his hand quickly, a faint tinge of embarrassment coloring his cheeks as though he had just been caught having sex.

As Seifer's intimate moment with Leonhart shattered into a million pieces, he was filled with animosity for the sharp shooting cowboy who intruded. "You missed the real show, Kinneas," he spat venomously. Releasing the now tense swordsman from his arms, he turned around and faced the gunman in his blatantly disheveled state of dress. As he started buttoning up his shirt, he commented, "But I'm not sure you could handle such a show as Leonhart puts on."

Jaw clenching as he exercised restraint, Irvine strode closer, his attention momentarily distracted by the arranged display of cookies and other like sweets on the table.

Properly composed, Squall turned to face his best friend without a misgiving blush. He sipped his tea slowly, reserved in his calm manner of indifference. He met violet-blue eyes evenly and waited for the inevitable question.

"What's he doing here?" Irvine asked, addressing the former commander in a futile attempt to ignore the ex-knight's presence.

The change in Squall's countenance was so subtle that a replay would have been necessary to spot the difference. Gazing with wry humor, he did not respond to the gunman's question, but silently asked his own. He had no reason or obligation to answer Irvine. He was beyond excuses. He had gained a new level of understanding and felt overwhelming relief to be rid of his previous guilt. While he was not exactly guilt free, he was done with making excusing for his actions.

Irvine read the message contained in stormy blue eyes. "I see," he uttered with a loathsome glare thrown in Seifer's direction. "He has an invitation."

Seifer quirked an amused brow. "I've got a hell of a lot more than an invitation, Kinneas," he drawled smugly. Slipping an arm around Leonhart's waist, he informed the gunman, "I've got a date."

Face contorting angrily, Irvine glared at the ex-knight balefully. Addressing the brunet, he bit out tersely, "Is this how you stay away from him?"

A grin stole over Seifer's lips, expressing the elation he felt for confrontation. His last encounter with the cowboy hadn't exactly paved any roads for his moving in on Leonhart. His recent achievement was made sweeter by Kinneas' witnessing oppositional presence.

Rolling his eyes, Squall pulled away from the goading blond. "Take it outside," he advised coolly. Showing more interest in his tea than either of the other two men, he sipped his drink slowly and moved towards the island counter in the center of the kitchen.

Following the former commander, Irvine gently grasped the man's shoulders and demanded the attention he was due as a best friend.

The single step Seifer took towards the gunman revealed just how close he came to losing control of barely contained lashing jealousy. Glaring with menace in his eyes, he warned the auburn haired sharpshooter to keep the physical contact to an absolute minimum.

Although Irvine reveled in being able to annoy the ex-knight, he knew he would inadvertently annoy Squall by expressing any unnecessary skinship. Once he held the gaze of stormy blue eyes, he said, "I got a call from Lore this morning." Sparing the tall blond a scathing look, he continued, "He told me the strangest thing. I gleaned from his ranting that some asshole had asked you out on a date and you were actually considering it."

"_Was_ considering it," Squall corrected evenly. Taking another sip of his tea, he watched as relief washed over the gunman's face. Taking pity on the intrusively concerned man, he quickly added, "I said I would go."

Seifer chuckled darkly. Leonhart's subtly vindictive manner was giving him an erection. He had the distinct impression that Kinneas was in the doghouse. His recent physical escapades with Leonhart had no doubt raised his own status. He felt terribly satisfied knowing he was in better graces than the trigger-happy cowboy who had highhandedly told him to stay away.

"You're obviously still upset with me," Irvine commented as he turned away from the brunet. "But that doesn't make me any less concerned for you."

Squall's expression softened. "I'm not upset with you," he said quietly. "You were right about my not taking the mission."

"I was?" Irvine questioned with no small amount of surprise. Waving a hand, he dismissed the outstanding issue of the horribly failed intervention a couple nights ago. "That's not why I came here."

"I know why you came here," Squall assured.

"You're a little late," Seifer muttered. Grabbing the back of one of four identical wooden chairs stationed around the oval shaped table, he gracelessly pulled the chair out of place and took his seat. Angled to face Leonhart near the center of the kitchen, he indiscreetly raked his eyes over the brunet's form.

Irvine made a hasty counter to the ex-knight's remark. "If you knew anything about Squall, then you'd know my timing would have no affect on his answer."

Seifer scoffed. "You lack the proper means of persuasion then, because I had no trouble influencing him."

"Seifer," Squall called sharply, warning the blond not to continue.

Seifer locked eyes with his rival before casting his gaze to the gunman. "He's easily influenced after good fuck," he stated with a lewd smirk.

Irvine's instinct was to draw his gun and adorn the bastard blond's pointedly exposed chest with a few bullet holes. Past experience held him back. His last encounter with the ex-knight was not easily forgotten. Turning his focus to someone more agreeable and willing to listen to reason, he placed his back to Seifer and faced Squall.

"This is the man you accepted a date with?" Irvine remarked disbelievingly. "Squall, what exactly blinds you to the fact that he's a total asshole?"

Shrugging indifferently, Squall commented, "I'm not blind to that fact."

Seifer cast his rival an affronted look.

"Then what is it?" Irvine asked in desperation. "What is it that attracts you to someone who sits in your kitchen like he's the king of the castle, leering at you like you're a piece of meat, while showing no respect for you? He's a dog. He's here because he gets off on the ego trip of sleeping with you."

No longer complacent to simply listen, Seifer stood and strode towards the gunman.

Irvine reacted out of more than just self-defense. Rearing on the approaching blond, he threw a punch. The thought of the ex-knight shamelessly using his best friend was positively enraging. He felt extremely satisfied when his knuckles impacted the smug man's firm jaw, effectively wiping away any trace of the infuriating smirk that had taunted him.

Squall set his mug down on the island countertop. He readied himself to intervene. Evident surprise registered on his face when Seifer failed to return Irvine's strike.

Rubbing his jaw, Seifer opened and closed his mouth to test how well it still worked. The radiating throb quickly abated and he was left with the conclusion that Leonhart was the only person aside from himself who knew how to throw a good punch. "If you're quite finished," he began, his narrowed eyes pinning the wary gunman in place, "then I suggest you take a second to remember what happened the last time we faced off. This overprotective friend routine grew old a long time ago."

"Well seeing as I'm still Squall's friend, I imagine it's not that old," Irvine returned.

"He's a big boy, Kinneas," Seifer reminded. "He can make big decisions without a second opinion."

Eyes narrowing, Irvine spat, "Influencing his decision, which you so freely admitted to doing, is the same as forcing a second opinion on him."

"It was more like forcing it _in_ him," Seifer corrected.

"Enough," Squall said quietly. Despite the soft tone he spoke in, his voice immediately managed to grab the rapt attention of both men. Regarding the gunman, he instructed, "Take a seat and we'll talk in a few minutes."

"Suddenly I'm the odd man out?" Seifer questioned.

Squall didn't bother confirming or denying. He would never turn Irvine away from his home. The gunman was his best friend, and regardless of the impending argument that would ensue once Seifer left, he had no intention of turning a deaf ear.

The muscle in Seifer's jaw visibly clenched as he realized there was no argument he could form to convincingly explain why his continued presence was necessary. Intent on wiping the smug expression on Kinneas' face away, he said, "Do me a favor, Leonhart."

Squall's eyes narrowed suspiciously, but his expression remained unreadable.

"Wrap some of this stuff up for me, will you?" Seifer requested with a disarming smile.

Irvine stiffened. "What?" he muttered, his tone suggesting he would use deadly retaliation if he heard the same request made again.

Seifer explained, "Fujin's staying with me for the week. She's eating for two and nothing I have in my kitchen appeals to her."

Staring intently at the kitchen table, Squall studied the large amounts of baked goods. The ex-knight's ploy to infuriate Irvine was obvious. Despite this, he could not deny that his own pathetic ploy to appease Lore would be seen through instantly. He would end up throwing away half of the food, and would sooner send Seifer away with a care package for Fujin than he would waste the food.

"Whatever," Squall agreed. He took a hesitant step towards the sink. Opening a drawer along the counter, he procured a carton of aluminum foil. He paused for a moment, feeling overly self-conscious. Drawing a sheet of foil out, he tore it cleanly and solidified his decision.

"Hyne," Irvine groaned despairingly. The thought of Squall sending the blond off with anything homemade was nerve grating. Squall's aptitude in the kitchen was known to very few people and serviced to even less. The exchange was a gesture of intimacy, one he felt disinclined to witnessing.

Acting the part of the victor, Seifer smirked while he finished buttoning his shirt. "Excuse me while I find the rest of my clothes," he said, casting the gunman a smug look before exiting the kitchen.

Changing tactics, Irvine decided he should remind the former commander that there were other fish in the sea. There was no need for such a toxic selection. "You're a thirty-five year old who looks twenty-two," he began, "rich, famous, influential, your father is the president of Esthar, you're smart, attractive enough to be the world's number one ladies man-"

"Irvine," Squall interrupted.

Irvine held a hand up. "Any woman would kill to sleep with you. Any man would kill to have your body, in more ways than one. Why in Hyne's name are you going on a date with that world class jerk?"

"Because I want to," Squall said.

Irvine could not dispute the pale brunet when the man spoke with such honest conviction. "I hate him," he muttered loathsomely. "I will always hate him."

Squall stopped piling cookies for a moment. Staring solemnly into the gunman's eyes, he said, "Seifer isn't half the jerk you think he is."

Violet-blue eyes widened in astonishment. Irvine could not believe what the swordsman had just said. "Are you serious?" he remarked incredulously. "What I think is, he's not just half the jerk, he's ten times the jerk."

"And me?" Squall asked quietly. "When I was still a cadet, a lot of people considered me a jerk."

"Aloof, maybe," Irvine amended. "But never a jerk."

Shaking his head, Squall moved on to the brownies. "Can you blame anyone for the wrong impressions they might have of me?"

"I'll blame reporters for selling lies as truths," Irvine said with a rueful expression. "If anyone has a bad impression, it's because they don't know you."

Squall rolled his eyes. "Irvine, I wouldn't care if the world hated me," he reminded. "My point is that you don't know Seifer like I do."

"Are you about to tell me there's more to him than being a jerk?" Irvine questioned. He scoffed at the notion.

Squall merely shrugged. He wasn't on a mission to change anyone's opinion of Seifer.

"What, like he's a jerk and a dick?" Irvine queried.

"No, that's just what I think with," Seifer corrected as he reentered the kitchen. The spring in his step suggested that he was beyond insults and could not possibly be defeated.

Squall stiffened visibly, hoping the blond hadn't overheard him speaking. Hastily covering the platter with foil, he turned to the ex-knight to hand it off. His eyes gazed away.

Seifer's hands brushed over his rivals. A heated thrill ran through his body, instilling in him a great sense of loss at leaving. "Hey," he murmured, trying to capture the brunet's full attention. When mesmerizing grey-blue eyes flickered to rest upon his face, he nearly staggered backwards at the swelling sense of pride that overcame him. He understood in that moment that his date with Leonhart was entirely consensual. The stubborn swordsman wasn't agreeing because of his incessant hounding. Leonhart wanted to date him, pure and simple. His entire aspiration had been to obtain a willing partner, and he had accomplished this.

"I'll call for the details," Squall said, fighting the urge to fidget. He withdrew his hands, leaving the load in the blond's possession.

"Walk me to the door," Seifer requested.

Hesitating for a moment, Squall eventually gave a faint nod. He spared the gunman an assuring glance and followed the ex-knight out of the kitchen.

Standing in the apartment's entryway together, Seifer took the liberty of claiming a long kiss goodbye.

Squall remained resolute in his decision to accompany the ex-knight that coming Friday, but his doubts and concerns only multiplied. Kissing Seifer, however, had a way of ridding unnecessary worries. The man's lips seemed to know exactly what felt good. To say the blond's technique was above par would be a grave understatement. He could barely keep up, and before long he could barely keep standing.

Seifer's tongue delighted in exploring his rival's delicious mouth. With each shaky breath he took in and breathless sigh he let out, his need for more mounted. He cradled the brunet's head while holding his platter bearing hand out awkwardly.

"You have to leave," Squall managed to say when the ex-knight pulled back long enough to catch a few panting breaths.

"I know," Seifer agreed. "But when I look at you…" he trailed off, his mouth soon attached to Leonhart's again.

A quiet moan escaped Squall, causing him to stiffen in realization of just how quickly the exchange was escalating.

"It's fine," Seifer mumbled against plush lips. Fisting damps locks he secured Leonhart's participation and delved deeply into the man's open mouth.

Turning away, Squall returned, "It's not."

"Kisses shouldn't have limits," Seifer admonished.

Agreeing wholeheartedly, Squall locked eyes with the blond while his wits scrambled to remember why he needed to stop kissing the enticing man. His argument was lost completely when his eyes cast a flickering glance to the ex-knight's kiss bruised lips.

Seeing his rival's desire for more, Seifer suddenly felt it best to leave the man high and dry. With difficulty, he reined in his urges and took a solitary step back. "You're right," he conceded.

Squall reluctantly released his hold on the ex-knight's shirt. Hiding his surprise and disappointment, he schooled his expression meticulously.

Licking his lips hungrily, Seifer remained rooted in place while coming to terms with the distance that separated their bodies. Images of Leonhart in the throws of passion were fresh in his head, and his ability to keep control was sorely tested.

Jade-green eyes gazed into the living room. "Kinneas is a real touchy feely kind of guy," he commented suggestively.

With a scowl, Squall refuted, "No more than the average person."

"Do me a favor," Seifer muttered with no small amount of disdain, "don't let him touch you."

Stormy blues eyes widened. "What?" The ex-knight was reading too far into Irvine's camaraderie.

"You heard me," Seifer grumbled impatiently. His absence would leave the pheromone-exuding swordsman open for grabs. While he doubted Kinneas truly cared for his rival romantically, he wouldn't put it past the ego-bruised gunman to try something out of spite.

"Don't be ridiculous," Squall returned. There was a limit to how much jealous paranoia he could put up with.

"I'm not. I don't want him touching you," Seifer groused.

Squall countered, "He's my closest friend." He would not doubt the integrity of his best friend. The ex-knight was being ridiculous.

"How would you feel if Fujin were all over me?" Seifer reasoned.

Squall's brows rose in a wry expression. "Fujin's married," he pointed out sardonically.

Running his free hand through his hair, Seifer groaned in exasperation. "So is Kinneas, but that doesn't stop him from acting like a jealous lover every time I'm near you."

"He's concerned," Squall excused coolly.

Seifer snapped, "Concerned or not, the thought of him touching you drives me crazy."

Squall rolled his eyes. "He doesn't trust your intentions. Neither do I for that matter."

"Stop being difficult," Seifer demanded. He raised his hand and balled it as though he were fighting the urge to strangle the mulish brunet. "Just tell me that you'll act like I was in the room with you two, ready to shoot Kinneas for touching you"

"Whatever," Squall muttered in annoyed concession.

With a sigh, Seifer gazed deeply into stormy blue eyes. "You knew I was possessive when you agreed to go on a date with me," he reminded.

"Possessiveness has a limit," Squall muttered tersely.

Seifer chuckled darkly, amused at the irony of his rival's words. He had never felt such a strong desire to possess someone completely. Leonhart had no idea just how jealous he could be. It wasn't his intention to come on so strong, but he was helpless against the overpowering instincts that arose in the presence of the brunet.

Smirking, Seifer warned, "You might understand what it's like this Friday"

Squall questioned the ex-knight's words silently, his eyes talking for him.

Reading mesmerizing eyes, Seifer elaborated, "You'll be my date, but that won't exactly keep Esthar's most eligible ladies from fawning over me"

Squall rolled his eyes. The ex-knight was full of ridiculous fancies that day.

Seifer made a promise. "Just wait Leonhart. You'll turn green. Before we finish dinner, you'll be all over me, marking me so everyone knows you're first in line."

"There's a line?" Squall muttered dryly. Moving around the towering blond, he pressed the release for the door. He waited expectantly.

Seifer strode out of Leonhart's apartment. He turned for a final look.

"Careful not to trip over your own ego on your way down," Squall advised before shutting the door in the arrogant man's face.

Seifer stood rooted, staring intently at the closed door to Leonhart's apartment. A mischievous light brightened his eyes. Turning away, he strode down the hall and began listing the names of women he knew that had previously lacked an invitation to Friday's opening ceremony. The concept of a jealous Leonhart was too alluring to dismiss.

TBC…

Author's note: Well, another long wait for another update. Seifer and Squall are still a far cry from declaring their undying love for one another, but there's still enough intrigue to work with for many more chapters. Seifer hasn't even realized that taking Squall as a date is as good as coming out of the closet. The baker Squall ploy was a little contrived and overworked, but I had to give Seifer something since he didn't get an invitation into Squall's bedroom. I consider it a consolation prize. For anyone anxious to see how Seifer and Lore develop their relationship, that time is quickly approaching.


	37. Chapter 37

Defining Love

Defining Love

Chapter Thirty-Seven

It was Friday night. Squall arrived on sight at Seifer's training center in a timely fashion. Men in tuxes and women in gowns swarmed near the entrance, each coupled off as they ambled inside.

Squall parked as far away from the entrance as possible. Photographers buzzed around the entrance, much to his dismay. The ostentatious ex-knight had turned a simple ribbon cutting ceremony into an elite Estharian event.

"Hyne, I didn't expect this," Rinoa murmured.

Squall glanced over at the raven-haired sorceress. "Thank you for doing this."

Rinoa reached out and grasped the former commander's hand. "I'm glad you asked. I love a fancy party. It gives me an excuse to dress up."

Squall smiled softly. "I just want to get this over with." He referred to the onslaught of flashing cameras they would soon face.

"This is no small favor," Rinoa commented. Casting an uneasy glance outside her window, she gazed at the buzzing photographers and posing guests. She wondered what connections the ex-knight had with so many socialites.

"I'm in your debt," Squall said.

"No, not me," Rinoa refuted. Gazing at the attractive brunet, she corrected, "I meant this is a big favor you're doing for Seifer. I'm surprised he invited you, but I'm even more surprised that you said you would go." Black ties and crowds usually drove the reclusive fighter away.

A solemn expression guarded Squall's feelings. He didn't know what to tell his former sorceress. After Seifer had clarified the particulars of their date, he had contacted Rinoa and enlisted her as an escort. The highly publicized event was strictly business. The private dinner that followed was the actual date.

"I guess I can understand his wanting you here," Rinoa said. "This is like renewing the vigor of the fight, and you both share the same history as fighters."

"I'm here as a friend," Squall informed her. It was as close to the truth as he was willing to admit. Whatever relationship developed between him and the ex-knight, he wasn't going to flaunt it before it attained some solid definition. They hadn't even gone on a first date, which left them at a level closer to sex partners than lovers.

"When did that happen?" Rinoa questioned.

Squall gave an indifferent shrug. He couldn't exactly put a time stamp on any of the changes that had occurred.

Dark brown eyes studied the impassive expression formed by delicate features. The nature of Squall and Seifer's relationship had always been very distinct. The two gunbladists were infamous for their rivalry. Hearing the aloof brunet claim the antagonistic ex-knight as a friend was unexpected. "Are you that desperate for friends with Irvine gone?" she queried jokingly.

A quiet scoff sounded Squall's acknowledgement of the sad notion. He would never be desperate for friendship. He was the sort of person who could live his life without a single friend, but that didn't mean he didn't value his friends and family. He could never live without his son.

"Right," Rinoa said with a smirk. "Never mind." Despite any changes the former commander displayed, he was the same lone wolf at heart. She supposed that Lore was the only true necessity in his life.

Squall opened the driver's door. He was eager to rush past the photographers.

"Have I told you how handsome you look in that?" Rinoa called over. Her eyes gazed at his form, clad a stroller tuxedo with slate grey vest and necktie.

"Twice," Squall responded with a smile. He had been to enough formal affairs to have a selection of suits and tuxes.

Squall moved around to the other side of the car. As his companion swung her legs over and prepared to stand, he offered a hand of assistance.

Rinoa slid her hand atop Squall's and stood up. While fanning out any wrinkles in her deep blue gown, she eyed the spiffy swordsman. "I wish you'd let me take a picture," she complained, her lips pouting.

"There will be enough picture taking tonight," Squall muttered. He offered his arm. As Rinoa sidled up against him, he leaned over and said, "You look beautiful."

Rinoa laughed. "You're making me blush." The shimmering material draped over her form, hugging her body where it mattered. She had her raven strands swept back into a simple folded twist.

Together they set off across the parking lot.

Inside the training center, two hundred guests mingled in the open arena. Beneath the retractable rooftop and atop the interchangeable floor, everyone stood in the middle of what would become a blood-spattered battlefield. It was the closest many of them had ever been to a fight.

Tables lined the wall that partitioned the field from the high rising seats. The bleachers were empty, and it appeared as though all the spectators had flooded onto the field. The evening was well underway. Seifer had already given his self-congratulating speech, and was working the crowd. Investors were quickly reminded why they had invested in the first place.

Squall and Rinoa stood on the sidelines, away from the music and dancing.

Sipping on a glass of champagne, Rinoa worked on an angle to coerce Squall into dancing with her, though she held little hope of success. She stared at the profiled face of the former commander.

Squall's sharp eyes perceived his companion's restless aura. "I'm content to keep myself company. You don't have to stay here," he murmured softly.

Rinoa cast the brunet a disparaging look. "You're the best company a girl could find here. If I left, you'd be eaten alive by every person in here, and then who would drive me home?"

A faint smile revealed Squall's good humor.

Sounding an indignant huff, Rinoa muttered, "Where is our host? He spent all of five minutes with us before disappearing."

"This is work for him," Squall commented. He understood that his date wouldn't begin until he and Seifer were alone at dinner. His presence at the training center's grand opening was as the ex-knight's rival. He was a fellow gunbladist showing his support. It was strictly platonic. He preferred it that way. He had enough reservations about dating Seifer without announcing it to the world.

"Are you alright?" Rinoa questioned gently.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Squall returned.

With a heavy sigh, Rinoa shook her head in dismissal. As she placed her champagne glass to her lips, she hesitated. Lowering the flute, she said, "You seem kind of sad."

Evident surprise registered on Squall's face. "Sad?" he repeated.

"It might be indelicate to ask this, but where are you with Cale?"

Schooling his expression, Squall masked the pang of remorse that rang through him at the mention of the deceased professor. "I'm coping," he replied cryptically.

Sensing that she had broached a subject closed to discussion, Rinoa coaxed, "I won't press anything. If you ever needed one, I'm a good listener." She sipped her drink.

Squall didn't quite know what to say. Whatever Rinoa had detected in his expression hadn't been about Cale.

"Ah, I seem him!" Rinoa exclaimed. The matter of Cale was forgotten.

Following his companion's line of sight, Squall gazed out into the crowd. He caught sight of Seifer's golden blond hair and judged the man to be moving in their direction.

"It's about time," Rinoa remarked. "I was beginning to think he'd forgotten about us."

Seifer's form appeared within a small break in the crowd. He stood half a head taller than everyone nearby. Donning a traditional tux, he appeared strikingly refined. His devilishly handsome features distinguished him as the most attractive man on sight.

As Squall and Rinoa watched the ex-knight approach, they did not immediately perceive the man's long legged companion.

Stormy blue eyes widened at the unexpected sight. He stared at the fair-haired woman glued to his rival's side. Her draping red gown clung to her curvaceous form, dipping low at the collar to reveal an ample amount of her chest.

Rinoa shared in Squall's study. "I wondered whether he was dating anyone," she whispered before the approaching couple drew within earshot.

Squall stiffened. A strange feeling of reproach formed inside him.

Flashing a charming smile, Seifer came to a halt before the dark haired pair. He stood an unnecessary distance from his rival, something only Leonhart seemed to pick up on. When he saw the question flash in stormy blue eyes, he longed to explain the necessity of staying out of arm's reach.

Seifer could not help but to let his eyes rove Leonhart's form. While Heartily presented a stunningly gorgeous picture, his interest rested entirely in the former commander. He had never felt more like a homosexual. He had a beautiful woman clinging to his side, and another beautiful woman a short distance away, yet his eyes could not leave his rival.

A strange sense of rejection welled up inside Squall. He felt mistreated, but couldn't understand where such feelings came from. He knew Seifer was in the middle of a business party, and couldn't waste time by favoring himself or Rinoa. He knew the woman clinging to the blond's arm wasn't the ex-knight's girlfriend. He even understood why Seifer kept such a distance from him. A throng of curious spectators who might misinterpret the most innocent of gestures surrounded them.

Hesitating, Seifer had to force his eyes from the brunet's face. "Alex, I want to introduce you to Rinoa Heartily and Squall Leonhart." He gestured to both respectively. "This is Alex Bell," he ended with a nod towards his blonde companion.

Rinoa gave a curt nod while offering her hand. "Hello." The younger woman had a full round face and big doe eyes. She was very pretty.

Alex took great care in accepting Rinoa's hand. "Hyne, you're really her," she exclaimed. Gazing reverently into the sorceress' dark eyes, she added, "I mean, you're really _the_ Rinoa Heartily." When her eyes fell on the president's son, her breath gave a small hitch, which sounded like an awed gasp.

The moment Squall offered his hand in greeting, it was snatched up and gripped firmly. He wondered what relationship the woman had to Seifer. Were they friends? Fearing that his curiosity might be read in his eyes, he avoided the blond's perceptive gaze.

Continuing to hold the striking brunet's hand, Alex studied the man's face greedily. Seeing Squall Leonhart in person presented a drastically different image than what history books and the media painted. "I'm completely star struck," she admitted. "Meeting the president's son like this. Not just President Loire's son, but so much more."

Squall gently tugged his hand back, growing rather self-conscious. The woman's honey brown eyes scanned him repeatedly.

"I hope you don't mind my saying, but you're awfully pretty considering what you do," Alex said, her eyes glossing over.

A blush betrayed Squall's embarrassment.

"I don't mean that in a bad way," Alex asserted hastily.

Rinoa bristled in place. Growing a bit defensive, she sidled closer to the former commander and linked an arm through his. "He's not so pretty when he's covered in blood," she commented glibly. Even after the words left her mouth, she didn't quite realize how awkward the statement was. When Seifer's lady friend eyed her uncertainly, she realized how strange it must have sounded. Shooting a hand to her mouth, she smiled softly and chuckled. "I'm sorry. It's just, Squall isn't someone you can know on a first impression."

"Hyne, of course," Alex agreed. Taking the ex-knight's arm, she hugged it close and gazed up at the man's stern profile. "I'm usually not like this. You would think I'd learn after meeting Seifer and getting to know him."

Squall caught the blonde woman's eye. "You didn't say anything wrong," he assured. He offered the faintest of smiles.

Blindsided by the melodious voice that came from the strangely androgynous man, Alex felt a faint shiver course through her body. Her eyes stared at the brunet's lips, thinking she saw a smile. She concluded that the president's son wasn't just pretty; he was beautiful. He wasn't beautiful in a feminine sort of way, and was actually rather handsome if she considered it. As a measure of comparison, the ex-knight had the sort of virile good looks that made women swoon. Squall Leonhart had the sort of mysterious appeal that mesmerized the senses.

As her mind worked rapidly, Alex began to feel slightly faint. "I'm from a small town. The most excitement I'm used to is the fireworks at the end of the year festival."

"Where are you from?" Rinoa asked.

"Winhill," Alex answered with a whimsical smile. "I moved to FH about a year ago. I thought a change of pace would be adventurous, but FH was even less exciting than Winhill, until I met Seifer anyway."

Squall remained thoughtfully unresponsive for a moment. Though his curiosity centered towards how Alex and Seifer had met, he refused to pry. Instead, he asked after the town he had spent the first years of his life in. "How is Winwill?"

Alex hesitated in replying. The sincerity in the hero's tone of voice compelled her to answer at great length. She knew immediately that the question had been asked with a deep fondness for her unheard of hometown. "Do you know the place?" she inquired.

A heavy silence fell over the small group. Seifer glanced at Rinoa. Squall's lips pressed tightly together. The three of them shared the same understanding that the past was precious, and not something easily disclosed to strangers.

Seifer decided to redirect the conversation, but Leonhart spoke up first.

Squall regarded the newcomer evenly. "I was born there," he informed her, much to everyone's surprise.

Squaring his shoulders, Seifer narrowed his eyes suspiciously and studied his rival. He didn't like Leonhart's unusually open spirit.

Alex laughed. "What are the odds?" she commented. "I mean, what if we were like neighbors? I'd just die if you lived next door and I never knew all this time."

Giving a small shake of his head, Squall explained, "I left well before you were born."

A crease of confusion formed in Alex's youthful brow. As understanding dawned, two finely sculpted eyebrows shot up. "I was totally thinking that you were like the same age as me," she admitted with a somewhat bashful grin.

"He's not that much older," Seifer muttered. Physically, he was even older than Leonhart.

"Hyne, what a terrible topic to talk about," Alex said in a self-deprecating tone. "I must seem like a blithering fool. I promise you this isn't how I usually am."

Raising her glass of champagne, Rinoa took a small sip. "Squall has never looked his age," she said warmly. "During the war, he looked so much older. Ever since, he's looked younger."

Alex appeared grateful for the vote of confidence. "To answer your question, Winhill is doing great. Some expansions have been made and there's a train station about a quarter mile out of town, so it's not so disconnected from the rest of the world."

Seifer stared intently at his rival, searching for some indication of what the brunet was thinking. "Do you remember it?" he asked solemnly. He had never considered how much Leonhart might remember from before the orphanage. The laconic man had spared enough words to indicate a serious interest in Winhill, and he was fascinated to know more about the place.

Meeting jade green eyes, Squall stared in silence for many moments. "No," he said at length. His reply carried a nearly undetectable undertone of regret.

Aptly detecting the faint emotion ingrained in Leonhart's response, Seifer saw the mixture of emotion swimming in stormy blue eyes. He needed to know more. "Nothing?" he pressed.

Squall frowned. Dropping his gaze, he seemed on the verge of expanding his answer. The weight of the moment increased, and the others felt affected by the somber atmosphere that surrounded the possible memories stored in the former commander's head.

"Where are Raijin and Fujin?" Squall inquired evasively.

Swallowing thickly, Seifer fought the urge to press Leonhart further. "They haven't arrived yet," he answered briskly.

Unable to resist the temptation of a good love story, Rinoa gave in to her nagging curiosity. "So, how are you two acquainted?" she asked with speculative stars in her eyes. She didn't believe Alex was the type of woman Seifer would take an interest in. Someone a bit more mature seemed to suit the blond, but first impressions were never accurate.

"We met while I was in Fisherman's Horizon," Seifer offered in a platonic tone.

Rinoa was unsatisfied. "Did you meet her when she first moved there?" she followed up.

"Just about," Seifer answered tersely. He didn't like where Rinoa was heading.

Eyeing the ex-knight keenly, Rinoa asked, "How long have you two been dating?"

Tensing visibly, Squall was taken by surprise when a pang of unease resonated inside his chest. He didn't understand the strange reaction. He forced himself to meet the ex-knight's eyes. A lurking fear urged him to lower his gaze before he found something he didn't want to see, but he continued to stare.

Seifer mentally cursed Rinoa for her question. He stared earnestly into stormy blue eyes and tried to convey a silent message. He felt the encroaching ruin of the tentative relationship he had managed to form with his rival. Everything he had worked for would be dashed to pieces because of a single question. He should have known better than to invite an ex-girlfriend. Alex was a particularly lovely young woman, and flaunting her before Leonhart's eyes had seemed amusing enough in his head.

Alex ventured to answer the sorceress' question. "Almost eleven months." Nudging the ex-knight's arm, she added, "He was out at sea so often that our time together was really more like five months."

"And you're together now?" Rinoa asked.

Alex gave a small shrug. "For as long as I'm in Esthar I suppose. To be perfectly honest, we were never very serious."

"We broke up before I moved here," Seifer stated firmly. Addressing Leonhart, his masked composure slipped as he pleaded his case. "We hadn't even been in contact until a couple days ago."

Alex laughed good-naturedly, uncertain how to take the ex-knight's declaration.

With a frown, Rinoa chastised the ex-knight. "You'd be so lucky to date someone so beautiful."

"You're sweet," Alex said to Rinoa, smiling thankfully for the support.

The atmosphere only grew more awkward. Every subject felt taboo.

When no one else seemed inclined to breaking the silence, Alex said, "So, this is my first time in Esthar."

"Doesn't this city make you dizzy?" Rinoa responded.

Neither Squall nor Seifer feigned interest in having a conversation. Squall refused to look at the ex-knight, and kept his eyes trained on the raven-haired sorceress. Seifer stared intently at his rival, willing the man to spare him a single glance.

"Yo, Seifer," a baritone voice called out.

Raijin's towering form strode towards the group. The crowded had parted for his birth. Fujin followed directly behind her husband, her progress slower as she took care not to waddle.

Seifer met his friends with flourishing acceptance. He clapped a hand to the burly man's back and cast an arm around the future mother's shoulders.

"Hey man, this place is great," Raijin congratulated. "We only took a quick look around, but it's awesome, ya know?"

"I would have given you the grand tour if I'd known you were here," Seifer said.

Fujin rubbed her rotund belly and cast an uneasy eye around the large arena.

Scratching the back of his head, Raijin informed, "Fujin's not feeling so hot today. We came early, but we're not gonna stay too long."

With his arm still in place, Seifer gently squeezed Fujin's shoulder. Glancing at her stomach, he questioned, "Is everything okay?"

"Fine," Fujin replied tersely.

Rinoa released Squall's arm and stepped closer to the silver haired mother-to-be. "How far along are you?"

"Seventeen weeks," Raijin supplied proudly.

A radiant smile lit Rinoa's face up. "Do you know the sex?" she inquired.

"It's a girl," Raijin answered enthusiastically. He grinned in a sort of goofy manner of unbound happiness. In twenty-five more weeks, he would have a baby girl. When his eyes fell on Leonhart, he gave a start of remembrance. "I almost forgot. Thanks for those brownies and stuff, ya know?"

Fujin nudged her husband.

Scratching the back of his head, Raijin cast a sheepish gaze at the ground. After a few moments, he continued, "They really hit the spot for Fu, and that's almost like impossible with the crazy stuff this baby has her craving. I'd owe you big time if you could give me the recipe."

Fujin gave her husband a disparaging look.

After clearing his throat, Raijin added, "Maybe, you could like show me how to make 'em, or something."

Seifer laughed richly, his voice rising above the din of chatter. He imagined his best friend standing in a kitchen wearing a frilly pink apron while black smoke billowed out of the oven.

Rinoa held back her amusement. Fearing the burly man might take her cracking smile the wrong way, she commented, "That's so sweet."

"Ya think?" Raijin asked. A smile tugged at his lips. "I can't really cook or nothin', but I figure I'll have to learn before the baby's born."

"I can show you," Squall consented evenly. His own amusement was deeply buried.

The opportunist inside Seifer jumped at the presented opening. "You can come to my place and show him," he offered generously. "So you don't dirty your own kitchen."

Squall scowled at the ex-knight.

Raijin gazed pleadingly at the former commander. "We leave on Sunday. It'd be great if you wouldn't mind teaching me tomorrow. I mean, if you're not busy, ya know?"

"I can't remember the last time I saw you two," Rinoa admitted. "Would it make any sense if I said I've missed you?"

A deep blush heated Raijin's face. "It's like good to see you too," he returned bashfully.

Fujin gave a firm nod of agreement. It had been many years since they had met anyone from Balamb Garden other than Seifer. Their lives before the war bared little relation to the lives they currently lived.

Rinoa's brows drew together in an expression of sad regret. "Ellone is really the only person I'm in contact with. We live in Centra together."

"It's been a long time, ya know?" Raijin commented.

"I know," Rinoa agreed.

As Raijin scanned each face in the group, his dark brown eyes settled on Alex with confusion. He realized something wasn't right with the pairings. Though he certainly hadn't been looking forward to seeing his best friend's arm around Leonhart, he had been prepared for the worst.

Fujin bristled in the ex-knight's hold. "Alex," she said, her single red eye trained on the young blonde woman.

"Hi," Alex greeted. "I wasn't sure if you would remember me. It's only been a few months though, and I've seen you around town since Seifer left."

Fujin gave a short nod. She remembered Seifer's ex-girlfriend.

Confusion expressed itself on Raijin's face. He caught Seifer's attention and gave the man a perplexed look.

"Alex is here as a friend," Seifer explained, as though it weren't already obvious.

"I'm not the only one," Alex added with an indignant undertone.

Seifer tensed at Alex's words. Trepidation filled him, causing his heart to race. He would have interjected to keep the young woman from speaking too liberally, but the urge to see Leonhart's reaction was overpowering. He longed to see pretty grey-blue eyes stare at him with coveting thoughts. He wanted his rival's plush lips to pout in petulant annoyance, and for envy to grow into uncontrollable possessiveness.

Alex continued in an innocent manner. "I practically had to draw straws with those other girls. They all wanted to come over here and have Seifer introduce them."

Seifer swallowed thickly. His attention remained fixed on Leonhart's face. The brunet seemed intent on avoiding eye contact.

"I can't blame them really," Alex admitted. Smiling up at the ex-knight, she said to him, "A girl would be lucky to get her hands on you. If I had any sense three months ago, I would have moved out here with you when you asked me to." A flush of embarrassment heated her cheeks, but the stars in her eyes betrayed her hopeful sincerity.

As Seifer witnessed Leonhart's reaction, a twinge of pain cut through his chest. The former commander's eyes finally met his. Wide stormy blue orbs held bewildered accusation. Dark brows were drawn in open hurt. The swordsman's expression injured him. He was affected as acutely by the man's emotions as if they were his own. "Leonhart," he began.

A mask of cold indifference fell into place over Squall's face. No one seemed to have noticed his momentary lapse. A steely glint shrouded all emotion in his eyes. He betrayed no sign of the constrictive vice crushing his lungs.

Squall had never felt like such a fool. Against all reason, he had agreed to go on a date with Seifer. Irvine and Lore had strongly advised against his decision, yet he had followed his own feelings. Whatever sensibility he had kept in harboring low expectations, he only now realized how high his hopes had risen.

He recognized what he had felt upon seeing Alex. He had been jealous.

Shame washed over him. He couldn't stay there any longer. Seifer brought out the absolute worst in his character. He imagined himself being one step away from drawing straws with those other women, vying for the insufferable man's affections.

Seifer addressed Leonhart, "Come with me for a minute. I need a private word." He spoke in a stern voice. Extracting his arm from Alex's hold, he stepped towards his rival. He reached for the man's elbow, hoping a firm hand would secure some level of cooperation.

Squall took an involuntary step back. Disengaging from Rinoa in the process, his evasion was instinctive.

Everyone took notice of Squall's alarmist reaction. Seifer's extended hand hung in the air after missing its target.

"I should go," Squall declared. A hasty flight felt cowardly. He knew he should speak with Seifer and break their engagement directly, but he couldn't stand to be a fool.

"Don't," Seifer objected in earnest.

"Hey man," Raijin spoke up. "Not here, ya know?" He cast a surveying glance around the area. Heads were already turning with interest.

"Squall, what's wrong?" Rinoa asked in confused alarm.

"Nothing," Squall said. His eyes scanned the area. Spotting the nearest exit, he muttered, "Excuse me." He hurried off, his strides bordering on a slow jog.

"Shit," Seifer cursed under his breath. Breaking away from the group, he called over his shoulder, "I'll be back in a little while."

"Seifer what's going on?" Alex called after the ex-knight.

"Nothing," Seifer returned. He hastened to catch up to Leonhart, leaving everyone else in a state of uneasy confusion.

Raijin and Fujin were aware of the circumstances and couldn't exactly blame Leonhart for bailing out.

Squall rushed through the one of the arena's exit. Beyond the exit, a corridor ran along the circumference of the training center. The various facilities were offshoots, everything stationed around the arena's battlefield. He hoped to find a back exit that would take him outside. He couldn't leave without Rinoa, but he could use the fresh air.

Seifer wasn't far behind. "Leonhart!" he called after the brunet.

Squall didn't slow down. He moved along the curving corridor. Near the back of the large building, it was dark and vacant. The only light came from the open archways, like the one he had come through, spaced along as entrances to the field.

"Stop!" Seifer ordered. "Hold on for two seconds." Running, he managed to catch up. He reached out and grabbed his rival's arm.

Though Squall tore away, the ex-knight's fingers clutched his upper arm in a vice-like grip. "Let go," he hissed.

"Not until you talk to me," Seifer returned. Before the agitated swordsman could throw a punch, he took further measures to prevent an escape. Forcing the man against the nearby wall, he captured the other arm.

"Seifer," Squall bit out angrily. "Let go."

Tightening his grip, Seifer squeezed Leonhart's arms. He refused to let go without a fight. When stormy blue eyes finally looked at him, he requested, "Let me explain."

Squall glared. It occurred to him that he had been set up. The ex-knight had always enjoyed putting on a good show. He recalled the man's words from their last meeting. Seifer wanted to see him jealous, for him to experience the same absurd emotions that Irvine's presence incited in the man. "Explain what?" he questioned sullenly.

"You know what," Seifer replied. He didn't detect anger in Leonhart's voice, just resignation. "Alex is a friend. You came here with Rinoa for the same reason I came here with her."

"I don't have a problem with Alex," Squall lied. "I don't care if she's your girlfriend." He would have pinched the bridge of his nose if could move his arms. It was far too late to feign indifference. He should have figured the blond's game out earlier. He was more than a fool. He was a dimwitted fool.

"You don't?" Seifer returned in an accusing tone. He would be more than a little disappointed if Leonhart were unconcerned with whom he dated. He was tired of experiencing unrequited feelings. Leonhart had shown an annoying level of indifference concerning his relations with others.

Anger returning to his voice, Squall snapped, "No. You're free to date whoever the hell you want." The level of emotion in his words betrayed each one as a lie. It was obvious that he cared and that he was absurdly jealous.

Seifer's eyes narrowed. Leonhart didn't get it at all. "I don't want to date Alex. I want to date you," he stated.

Eyes widening, Squall stared with uncertainty written all over his face. He didn't know what to say.

"I had her come to get a rise out of you," Seifer admitted.

Squall dropped his eyes. "I know," he murmured.

"You know?" Seifer intoned incredulously. He hadn't thought that his ploy was so obvious. Then again, he had also thought it was a good idea, which it apparently wasn't.

Squall nodded. Despite his understanding, he was still jealous. "I'm still jealous," he mumbled.

A thrill ran through Seifer. "Come again?"

"Asshole," Squall muttered with a rueful glare. Admitting his jealousy was not easy. In light of his hasty departure, there was no denying the effect Seifer's childish scheme had had.

Leonhart's icy-hot expression shot to Seifer's groin. He leered at his rival. "I want to fuck you so bad right now." There was no distance between them. His blood ran hot, yearning for sex.

Scowling, Squall quipped, "You always want what you can't have." Though he was angry with the ex-knight, he was angrier with himself. He wanted to sort through his thoughts and settle his jealousy before returning to Rinoa's side.

"You're making me hard," Seifer informed. The agitated furrow to Leonhart's brow was terribly sexy to him.

With a scoff, Squall returned, "You're making yourself hard."

Unable to resist any longer, Seifer captured pout lips. Releasing his grip on the brunet's arms, he reached down and set his hold on slim hips. Drawing the man's hips away from the wall, he pressed against them to prove the truth behind his words. Everything about Leonhart turned him on. The sight, sound, touch, and taste of his rival was arousing.

A sigh of forgiveness escaped Squall. Before he could completely lose himself to the kiss, he reined in his desires and turned away from the blond's devilish lips. He admonished, "Not here."

Persistent in tasting his rival, Seifer nudged a delicate chin and turned the brunet's head straight. Kissing Leonhart again, harder this time, he cast caution to the wind. If it would satisfy his craving, he would make passionate love to his rival before all his guests.

Squall became lost as he battled the ex-knight's tongue. The press of the man's bulging erection urged him to succumb to his desires. Before he completely melted within the blond's arms, he whispered, "Someone will see."

"I'm sure they'd understand," Seifer soothed. His tongue slid inside Leonhart's mouth, attempting to prevent further discussion.

Squall turned his head away. "I don't even understand," he pointed out. No one else could possibly understand if he didn't even have the first clue.

"Good point," Seifer said. Breaking away, he stepped back. Pulling Leonhart along, he urged, "Come with me." There were plenty of rooms that only he had access to.

TBC…

Author's note: If you couldn't tell, this chapter was meant to continue on. It has been far too long since my last update, so I couldn't hold off any longer. This semester has been beyond hectic for me. The sad truth is that my Spring break, which began this past Friday, was the first time I was able to write for myself. I'm sorry the chapter took so darn long, but I simply didn't have the time to write it. I'm hoping to crank out another chapter before next Monday, when my hectic schedule resumes, but I can't make any promises.

I know this isn't any masterpiece chapter, which makes the long wait even worse. I will say this once again, that I have not given up on this story. I am still dedicated to finishing it. Even if it's another two or three months without an update (I hope not), I will update eventually.

Okay, enough from me. I love to hear from everyone else. I can't tell you how important reviews are to me.


	38. Chapter 38

As soon as the elevator doors had closed, Seifer pinned Leonhart against the wall

Warning: Adult content, not for the faint of heart or underage.

Defining Love

Chapter Thirty-Eight

As soon as the elevator doors had closed, Seifer pinned Leonhart against the wall. He spared a quick moment to select the tenth floor, and then resumed his feverish violation of the enticing swordsman.

"Tell me again," Seifer requested. Tugging at the brunet's tie, he worked to expose a creamy neck. The top two buttons of the obstructing shirt popped off when he yanked at the stiff collar. Too impatient to care about the damaged shirt, he attacked Leonhart's neck.

Squall sank back against the elevator wall. When slick lips latched onto his racing pulse, a moan escaped him. His neck was extremely sensitive to the ex-knight's touch. Pleasure hummed through his body, causing him to tremble and lose strength.

Nipping unblemished skin, Seifer teased the creamy flesh until it reddened thoroughly. Still unsatisfied, he sucked hard at the beating pulse.

Burying his fingers in golden blond hair, Squall held Seifer's head in place. When the man sucked harder, he cast his head back and rubbed his erection against the muscular thigh wedged between his legs.

A lewd grin spread across Seifer's face. "You like that?" he questioned, his face still buried against the crook of his rival's neck. Discovering what drove his rival wild was a power rush.

"Yes," Squall answered. He inhaled sharply when Seifer raised the thigh between his legs, forcing more pressure against his groin.

"Say you're jealous," Seifer urged.

"Screw you," Squall gasped. He pulled at silky strands of hair and forced the ex-knight's head away. "You set me up," he reminded.

"So you would understand what I felt," Seifer reasoned.

Squall set his hands against his rival's chest. Pushing the man back, he gave a look of wry speculation. He knew the blond had done it for an ego trip. The man wanted reassurance.

"Okay," Seifer conceded. "I might have had other reasons."

Rolling his eyes, Squall grasped one of the ex-knight's hands that rested on his shoulder. Directing the hand lower, he set it against his throbbing arousal. "What more assurance do you need?" he questioned, his eyes darkening with lust.

Jade-green eyes narrowed, gaining an edge of madness. Seifer wound his arms around the lithe brunet, pulling the man close with crushing force. Capturing beckoning lips, he devoured them ruthlessly. His passion ran wild. Leonhart had a knack for unhinging his desires. His instincts told him to fuck the tempting swordsman against the elevator wall.

A simper sounded from Squall's throat. He winced when nipping teeth sank into his bottom lip, nicking the skin and drawing blood. Retreating from the kiss, he tried to push back and gain some distance. Seifer wouldn't allow it. Strong arms hugged him tighter, and a slick tongue lapped at the corner of his mouth, cleaning his wound.

The elevator dinged, announcing the sexually charged couple's arrival on the top floor. The doors opened to a dark corridor. Without the distant sound of chattering voices, the atmosphere was subdued. The only sound was the muffled pants and messy slurp of lip locked mouths.

Seifer managed to command some semblance of control. He broke away and dragged his companion off the elevator. Falling short of tossing the brunet over his shoulder, he settled for hauling his rival close and forcing the man to keep up with his rushed strides.

Squall wore a scowl of disapproval. "I can walk on my own," he said. He tried to pull away from the blond, but the man's arm refused to leave his waist.

Aware that his domineering actions agitated the brunet's pride, Seifer explained, "I'll go crazy if I'm not touching you."

Surprise registered on Squall's face. His cheeks heated to a rosy blush. He felt a strange satisfaction from the ex-knight's sudden statement.

Coming to an abrupt halt, Seifer said, "This is my office."

Squall studied the glossy onyx door. Seifer's name adorned it in bold white letters. He could see his reflection in the glass-like material. Seifer's shadowed figure loomed behind him. The door was flashy. Eyes would be drawn to it, and then to Seifer's name.

Seifer punched in his code on the side panel.

Once the door opened, Squall took it upon himself to remind the ex-knight that he wasn't the submissive type. Forcing the man's arm from around his waist, he slipped inside the office first. Hearing the door slide shut, he spun back and set his hands on the ex-knight's jacket. Pushing the man against the wall, he pressed closed.

Meeting jade-green eyes defiantly, Squall dared the man to push him away. When Seifer seemed content to let him have his way, he stood on the balls of his feet and claimed the ex-knight's lips.

Seifer was in no position to question Leonhart's assertiveness. The brunet's tongue coiled around his own, roving his mouth urgently. His arms encircled the smaller man's frame.

Squall continued to kiss Seifer until the man's battling tongue gave him the lead. He used the lapels of the tuxedo coat as leverage. It was difficult to plunder the mouth of someone six inches taller. Delving deeply, he tasted the arrogant swordsman without restraint. His hunger grew, driving him to consume until he became drunk. He retreated a bit, nipping at a swollen bottom lip. He worried the soft flesh until an impatient flicked out to draw him back.

Claiming another taste, Squall slipped his tongue inside Seifer's mouth and kissed the man harder than before. He needed more. Kissing wasn't enough, but he was determined to make it sufficient.

Head swimming, Seifer couldn't keep his thoughts in order. He was vaguely aware of how hot his body felt. Pressed back against the wall, he drowned in his desires. As Leonhart devoured him, he held the man close to make certain it never ended.

Unable to sustain such feverish momentum, Squall drew the kiss to an end and lowered to stand at his own height. A lightheaded dizziness informed him that he might have overdone it. Bowing his head, he rested against the ex-knight's solid chest. Strong arms continued to hug him close.

Panting heatedly, Seifer licked his lips. No one had ever kissed him so willfully before. Knowing that Leonhart desired him to such a frenzied extent sent shivers down his spine.

"You can't always lead," Squall said, his voice muffled by the chest he pressed against.

Seifer chuckled. Leonhart had a way of being terribly cute at times. "I can't change who I am. I've been attracted to women all my life. I lead by instinct."

Lifting his head, Squall gazed sullenly at the ex-knight. "It's not the same. I'm not a woman," he muttered.

Seifer studied the attractive brunet. His eyes drank in the sight of delicate features. Leonhart was indeed beautiful, but he didn't think of the swordsman as a woman. "I know," he murmured. Reaching a hand up, he cupped the side of his rival's face. His thumb caressed soft skin. Sliding his hand along, his fingers brushed over a temple and combed into thick brown hair. He pushed choppy bangs back, exposing Leonhart's face completely. "I'm not treating you like a woman. I'm treating you like someone I desire beyond all reason."

Seifer's words resonated deep inside Squall's chest. Staring up into shadowed green eyes, he saw a stern sincerity that made him wonder what else the ex-knight meant to imply. He realized it was a confession. The ex-knight had feelings for him. A shy sort of embarrassment tinged his cheeks. The heat kept rising to his face the longer he stared. He could feel his ears begin to blush.

Seifer returned his rival's study. He didn't know what to make of the brunet's reaction. The lost expression was so unguarded and genuine that he didn't want to blink. There was something fragile and delicate about the former commander. He could see it in those big pools of steely blue that stared so innocently at him. Sometimes, he feared that his touch would break the man. He couldn't help himself. Heat pooled in his loins, his erection throbbing in aching need.

"How much time do we have?" Squall questioned. He was filled with the desire to reciprocate the ex-knight's sentiment. He didn't understand how he felt towards the blond, only that he wanted the man to know that he wasn't there out of resignation or shallow curiosity.

"There's no limit," Seifer answered. Closing his eyes, he battled with a sense of responsibility. "I should get back soon though."

Squall had figured as much. They didn't have time to go all the way. If they had sex, he suspected that once wouldn't be enough. With the time constraints, not to mention the need to keep their clothes unruffled, he considered their options for finding release.

Acting first, Squall reached down and unbuckled the ex-knight's pants. He reached inside, his fingers well acquainted with the feel of his rival's manhood. Glancing up, he gazed questioningly into jade-green eyes. There was more than one way to proceed, but he didn't know what the blond wanted. He didn't want to ask outright, but there was no time for shy hesitation. After everything he had already done with Seifer, there seemed little place for modesty. "Do you want me to use my mouth?" he finally questioned in an even tone. He might as well have asked if Seifer wanted sugar in his coffee.

Seifer's expression went slack, his mouth nearly falling open. Dumbfounded, he intoned a cracked, "What?"

Showing no change in his expression, Squall simply stared. He wasn't going to repeat the question.

Eyes narrowing, Seifer studied his rival. The man appeared to be serious. His mind began to jump to conclusions. "Have you done that sort of thing before?" he questioned in a demanding tone.

Squall rolled his eyes. "Does everything come back to that?" he returned.

Jaw clenching, Seifer combated with the notion that his rival had sucked some other man's cock. Leonhart had no idea what jealousy was, not the sort of enraged possessiveness he felt.

Detecting an utter lack of enthusiasm, Squall murmured, "Never mind."

"No, do it," Seifer said. If others had defiled the proud fighter in such a way, then he would not be denied the same pleasure.

Taking a step back, Squall glanced around the room and slipped out of his stiff jacket. He mentally berated the ex-knight for ruining his shirt. His tie could hide the damage to the first button, but not the second.

The room was dark. The only source of light came from the long window behind a desk. The blinds were drawn open and ambient light from the neon city filtered in.

Seifer followed Leonhart's lead. Shrugging out of his formal jacket, he moved towards the center of the room. There were two chairs situated in front of his desk. He hung his jacket on the back of one.

Standing in his dress shirt and fitted vest, Squall unbuttoned the cuffs of his sleeves and proceeded to roll them up.

As Seifer watched the brunet make preparations to suck him off, he became even harder. The buckle and front of his pants hung open. He tugged at the tail of his shirt, untucking it with the excited understanding that his rival was going to need room to work.

Finished rolling his sleeves back, Squall stood still for a contemplative moment.

Seifer stared at Leonhart's figure, a silhouette against the eerie glow of the distant city lights. He could feel sharp grey-blue eyes watching him, but he couldn't see them. His eyes followed the line of his rival's body. The vest hugged a trim waist snuggly, revealing how slender Leonhart's form really was. It was a mystery where the man's strength came from, but he would be the first to admit that it rivaled his own.

Reaching a hand out, Seifer beckoned, "Come here."

Not moving immediately, Squall stared at the blond for several more moments. Finally stepping forward, he drew within reach of the man's outstretched arm. He was quickly pulled closer, colliding against a muscular chest.

Cupping Leonhart's face, Seifer leaned down and kissed the swordsman. He kept it gentle, gingerly coaxing his rival to give him a taste. He had only displayed such gentleness once before. It wasn't in his nature to be soft. However, in that moment he felt no inclination to be rough.

A flittering sensation seized Squall's stomach. He felt his knees go weak, and ended up holding onto the blond for support. His reaction was strange, but his head was too fuzzy to think clearly.

Ending the brief exchange, Seifer leaned back. Looking at his rival's expression, his heart skipped a beat. Stormy blue eyes were in a daze and a feverish blush tinged pale cheeks. The man seemed to be drowning in lust. He couldn't remember seeing such an expression produced from any of the lustful kisses they had shared before. "You liked that?" he questioned quietly, remarking more to himself than Leonhart.

Reaching inside the ex-knight's pants, Squall grasped the blond's stiff manhood and stroked it firmly. He felt the man's body shiver in response.

Seifer released his hold on the brunet. Nimble fingers began to unbutton his shirt, slowly working downwards. His pulse quickened when Leonhart undid the last button and drew his shirt open. He was enthralled with every movement the man made. Regardless of his aroused state, he could have watched for hours.

Squall knelt in front of the blond. Drawing down the waistband of the man's boxers, he freed the erect organ inside. He stared for a disbelieving moment, his eyes measuring the thickness and length. He couldn't believe such a thing had fit inside of him. It didn't seem physically possible. He was reminded of the ecstasy he felt when it thrust inside him.

Shivering in remembrance, Squall gently stroked the ex-knight's arousal. Leaning close, he met the tip with his tongue. A husky note of encouragement sounded from the blond. Holding onto the thick base with both hands, he ran his tongue around the mushroomed head.

Practically trembling, Seifer felt his legs buckle. "Fuck," he cursed. Leonhart pulled back and gazed up with a curious expression. The man was oblivious to his plight. "I need to sit," he stated. He moved towards his desk. Leaning against the edge, he found a medium between standing and sitting.

Squall didn't comment. He stood and moved compliantly towards the ex-knight. Kneeling once again, he glanced up and waited.

Giving a bare nod, Seifer watched with bated breath. He inhaled sharply when Leonhart's tongue licked along the shaft of his cock.

Drawing his tongue from base to tip, Squall savored the power he had over the ex-knight. Wrapping his lips around the sensitive head, he slowly drew the organ into his mouth.

Seifer gripped the edge of the desk, his fingers clawing the varnished wood. As Leonhart's mouth bobbed around his length, his head fell back and a groan escaped him. He had never felt such acute sensations from a mouth before. His rival's tongue was doing things he hadn't thought possible. He couldn't tell if he was overly sensitive or if the former commander was an expert at giving head.

Drawing the hot organ deep inside his mouth and then pulling off, Squall continued to revel in the control he had over the arrogant blond. A thrill ran through him. Growing short of breath, he eased off and focused on stimulating the tip. The mushroomed head bloomed from his ministrations, its angry red color begging for fulfillment. Stabbing the glistening slit with his tongue, he tasted the heavy seed of his rival.

Unable to resist the domineering temptation, Seifer plunged a hand into silky brown hair and directed Leonhart to swallow his shaft again.

Taking direction with complacency, Squall let the thick cock fill his mouth. He hesitated when the blond's hand tugged at his hair, trying to pull him off and make him bob. Feeling indulgent, if only because Seifer's groans were intoxicating, he allowed the man to set the pace.

As Seifer's desire's mounted, he lost himself. His hips gave an involuntary thrust and his hand tightened its grip on silky hair. Biting his lip, he fought for control. He managed to stay his eager hips, his body going rigid with the effort.

Squall understood the ex-knight's dilemma. He pulled off, panting to catch his breath. After recovering for a moment, he shot a lustful gaze upwards. "It's fine if that's how you prefer it," he murmured.

Seifer couldn't resist any longer. He had no doubts that Leonhart could make him climax with a few flicks of that devilish tongue, but he was possessed by a desire for more. Gripping either side of his rival's delicate face, he directed his cock to the man's sweet mouth. When lush lips parted to accept him, he thrust inside. He held Leonhart's head firmly, pulling it to his groin each time he thrust forward. Without reservation, he fucked his rival's mouth. Over and over, he rammed his cock into wet warmth, the tip meeting the back of the Leonhart's slender little throat.

It was all that Squall could do to keep from biting down and gagging. He was not an expert at giving fellatio, and Seifer certainly wasn't making it easy. The sound of the man's groans encouraged him to bear with the discomfort and shortage of oxygen.

Seifer's mind went blank. All his thoughts melted away as he drew closer to climax. Leonhart's mouth was deliciously hot, the wet heat surrounding every inch of his cock that he could fit inside. It was an unfair disadvantage that rendered him incapable of holding out.

Teetering near the edge, Seifer thrust harder and tightened his grip. Leonhart's muffled pants urged him to hurry. Without warning, he came. His entire body shuddered as his stiff organ jerked in release.

A surprised simper sounded from Squall as he found himself swallowing the ex-knight's semen in rough gulps. His fingers clawed at the man's pants, finding an anchor as he became disoriented.

"Leonhart," Seifer called. "Hyne, Leonhart." Groaning loudly, he continued to come. He reveled in the fleeting ecstasy, none the wiser to how his well-mannered image had fallen apart.

When Seifer's cock jerked its final release, he eased his fingers from their clenched hold on mussed hair. As soon as his hold loosened, his rival pulled away.

Hand at his mouth to keep from sputtering the blond's release on the floor, Squall coughed while drawing in deep breaths. His lungs raged at such inconsiderate treatment.

Kneeling down, Seifer set his hands on the coughing brunet's shoulders. "Are you okay?" he asked, the concern in his voice supplying an apology.

Squall gave a terse series of nods.

While his partner continued to recover, Seifer tucked himself away. Even as he reassembled his clothes, echoes of pleasure ran through his body. Leonhart was beyond amazing.

Still on his knees, Squall reached for his suit jacket and searched the inner pocket for a tissue. Finding a small packet, he considered himself fortunate for bringing the item. He wiped his hand clean.

"Hey," Seifer said quietly. He offered his hand to the crouched swordsman. A shiver ran through him when Leonhart's smaller hand slid into his. Drawing his rival up, he studied the man's flushed face. Pout lips were swollen and red. The fact that they were slick with his own release didn't deter his strong desire to ravish them. He leaned in.

Squall put a hand to his mouth. He gave a faint shake of his head. "Where's the bathroom?" he inquired. He was unwilling to kiss the blond while his mouth tasted of the man's heavy seed.

Knocking the brunet's hand away, Seifer swiftly claimed plush lips. Tasting the foreign flavor of his own cum, he pulled away. "Hyne, that tastes awful," he muttered.

"I warned you," Squall shot back.

"Don't gloat," Seifer chastised. He kissed his rival again, heedless of his own essence that tainted luscious lips. He couldn't stop. He knew that it was Leonhart's mouth, and such knowledge made it impossible to end the exchange earlier than necessary.

"You're not making this easy," Squall murmured as he forced the blond away.

"Since when has anything ever been easy?" Seifer retorted. Persistent in having his lips on the resistant man, he leaned forward once again. Attacking a slender neck, all resistance left the suddenly willing body in his arms. He nipped at a beating pulse and felt Leonhart tremble. He suspected that he had found his rival's ultimate weakness. The prospect of extortion practically made him giddy.

"Bathroom," Squall whispered as a final reminder before his all thoughts fled from his head. When Seifer lavished his neck with soft kisses and sharp bites, he grew weak with satisfaction. In a single instant, he became a blithering mess of pent up desires, all his restraint crumbling. The roguish swordsman knew exactly what to do, nipping and kissing until his mind lost coherency.

Seifer hummed a deep note of understanding, but continued to kiss Leonhart's neck. His hand gravitated down, cupping the bulge in his partner's pants.

"Don't," Squall gasped, his hips rocking against the ex-knight's hand.

Breaking away from a slender neck, Seifer met drowsy grey-blue eyes. "This was a little one sided, don't you think?" he questioned in a suggestive tone. He could never use his mouth like Leonhart had, but he knew exactly how to stroke the man to orgasm.

Squall reached down and pushed the blond's hand away. "I'm not the one pressed for time," he pointed out.

Seifer scoffed. "So I'm supposed to leave while you jack off in the bathroom?" he queried cynically. "I think a few investors can wait while I watch you touch yourself." He had every intention to do much more than watch while his rival panted and moaned in pleasure.

Squall scowled. "You're not watching."

"Either I watch or I help. If you want me gone so badly, I suggest you drop your pants and start playing with yourself." He wondered if the brunet toyed with the back entrance in order to climax. Would pout lips form his name in a whispered gasp? Was it his cock the man imagined driving inside while slender fingers stimulated a needy prostate gland?

Taking a step back, Squall regarded the ex-knight with a warning glare. No amount of kissing his neck would coerce him into agreeing.

Seifer knew a brick wall when he saw one. "I'll show you the bathroom," he conceded. He frowned with disappointment. His imagination had already begun running wild.

--

Lore gnawed on his pizza's crust, debating whether or not to move on to another slice. While his father was off gallivanting with Esthar's number one bastard, he ate a lonesome dinner with his grandfather.

"It was a good game," Laguna commented.

Lore responded with a whimsical sigh. He and his grandfather sat beside each other on the couch, watching a soccer match. The Toramas were his favorite team. Thanks to the birthday gift from his father, he had gone to see them every home game. They were playing in Trabia that week, which was just as well since he had no motivation to have fun that night.

"What do you think Dad's doing right now?" Lore asked, tossing his crust back into the box.

"I think he's having a good time," Laguna answered.

Quirking a skeptical brow, Lore scoffed. "I can't believe he's dating that guy."

Laguna regarded his grandson with a sympathetic look. "Is it the guy or the dating that you don't like?"

"The guy!" Lore exclaimed. Sitting forward, he turned to face his grandfather. "I'm not jumping for joy over the dating part, but I was okay when it was Cale."

Silently, Laguna concluded that the only reason the boy had accepted Cale was because there was no risk. Cale's love had blossomed since the man had worked as his secretary. He had seen the enraptured gaze of his secretary follow Squall every time his son had visited his office. By the time Squall had accepted Cale's affection, there was no threat of the former commander ending up with a broken heart. Cale would have sooner died than see Squall hurt, which was the sad reality of the circumstances.

"Cale's gone," Laguna said gravely. He gazed sadly at his grandson. "He was a good man. I liked seeing your father with him."

Turning the television off, Lore scowled. There was a bitter edge to his expression. If only because the professor was the lesser evil, he missed the man. "Don't you think it's too soon?"

Laguna shrugged. He was certainly no expert. "There's no timeframe for these things," he surmised. It seemed reasonable to conclude that everyone handled loss differently. Some people might never move on, while others would move on quickly.

"Well, if he started dating the day after the funeral, wouldn't that be too soon?" Lore proposed. Speaking in hypothetical context, he knew he was desperate. If he didn't find an ally in his grandfather, he might be forced to admit that Seifer Almasy wasn't as bad as he thought.

"I guess," Laguna said in a placating tone. "We have different perspectives." Standing from the couch, he snatched the pizza box from the coffee table.

Lore watched his grandfather's progress to the kitchen. Swiveling around, he knelt on the couch and leaned forward against its back. "What's your perspective?" he called out.

Materializing in the kitchen's entrance, Laguna stood empty handed. He gazed heavenward with a thoughtful expression. At length, he replied, "I like seeing your father with Seifer. He's been real torn up since Cale's passing. His date tonight proves that he's on the mend."

Given yet another reason to abandon his dislike of the arrogant ex-knight, Lore clung to his disapproval of the man. "Uncle Irvine mentioned something about Dad just looking for a distraction," he commented.

Scratching the back of his head, Laguna gave his grandson a sheepish smile while saying, "Your uncle is about as over protective as you are. I wouldn't trust what he says when it concerns who your father dates."

Shoulders sagging in a defeated air, Lore argued, "Seifer's mean though."

"How is he mean?" Laguna questioned with genuine surprise.

Perking up, Lore ranted, "He barges in here whenever he likes. He's always making fun of me. He plays grabby hands with Dad. He's always trying to get under my skin. He's beyond disrespectful with the things he says about Dad." He stopped short, running out of breath.

"He taunts people," Laguna interjected. "I remember that much about him. Your father seems to think it's harmless."

Blue-green eyes narrowing suspiciously, Lore asked, "Did Dad say that?"

"Yes," Laguna confirmed.

"When?" Lore followed. His father hadn't spoken to him about Seifer's behavior.

Perplexed by his grandson's intense expression of interest, Laguna wondered if he had said something wrong. "When I asked him to tell me about Seifer."

"What?" Lore appeared flabbergasted. "Dad talked to you about Seifer?"

"Why not?"

"He didn't tell me about him," Lore muttered sullenly.

Moving to the couch, Laguna leaned against it while standing. "Did you ask?" he questioned knowingly. For sixteen years, his grandson had been privy to almost every aspect of Squall's life. Everyone else had to cope with the reality that Squall was not an open book. Doors were closing on Lore. There were certain things Squall wouldn't want to share freely, but would probably express if prompted. Lore needed to learn how to open those doors like the rest of them, and to accept that some doors were locked.

"Not exactly," Lore admitted. He assumed that if there was something to know about Seifer, his father would have told him.

Ruffling the youth's wayward hair, Laguna lectured, "If there's one thing I've learned being president, it's that you can't count on being given answers without asking questions."

A crease formed in Lore's brow as he frowned. Elbows propped on the back of the couch, he let his head fall to his hands. He lamented the countless questions he could have asked over the past week. "What did he tell you?" he questioned, his eyes darting a curious glance up at his grandfather.

Crossing his arms, Laguna related the summarized points of extracted information. "He told me that Seifer is a good fighter. That he believes in hard work. That he's secretly an idealist."

Interrupting, Lore sounded a complaining groan. "Any bad stuff?" he asked hopefully.

"He's arrogant, but not without merit. He's a bully, but he doesn't pick meaningless fights," Laguna offered. "Those were your father's words," he added.

Resigned to losing his grandfather to the dark side, Lore slid sideways and flopped against the couch cushions. Stretching out languidly, he muttered, "Uncle Irvine will always be on my side."

"I'm sorry I can't hate him for you," Laguna said. Gazing adoringly at the boy, he explained, "Half of you comes from him. That makes him a good person in my books."

Lore's eyes widened. Shooting upright, he gazed at his grandfather accusingly.

--

Walking across the parking lot, Rinoa linked her arm with Squall's and pressed close. "Is everything alright?" she questioned.

"Fine," Squall answered. He raised his free arm and adjusted his tie to better hide the missing buttons from his shirt.

Dark brown eyes studying the former commander's proud profile, Rinoa said, "You and Seifer were gone a long time. You rushed off all of a sudden. I didn't want to bring it up in front of everyone, but we're alone now. What was that all about?"

Squall cast the sorceress a reluctant glance. "Lover's quarrel," he muttered dryly.

Laughter filled the crisp night air. Rinoa doubled over, clinging to her friend's arm for support. She laughed until her diaphragm ached and her eyes watered. "Oh Hyne," she exclaimed. Straightening up, she pressed a hand to her stomach and continued to laugh.

An amused smile graced Squall's lips. Rinoa's laughter would have been contagious if there weren't an uneasy weight in his chest. There was truth to his words, but they were a mere mockery to others. The idea that he and Seifer were lovers was ludicrous. He felt sad all of a sudden.

"Never mind," Rinoa said. Wiping her eyes she recomposed herself and began to walk forward again. "If you're desperate enough to make jokes to keep me from prying, then I won't pry. I haven't had a good laugh like that in a while."

Squall hummed a noncommittal note of agreement. He wondered how she would react if he informed her that after dropping her off for the night, he intended to go out on a date with Seifer and would likely spend the night having passionate, unbridled sex with the man.

Unwilling to disclose the most recent insanity in his life, Squall followed after Rinoa. There wasn't anything about his relationship with Seifer worth telling. If the relationship changed, if his feelings for the ex-knight changed, then he would tell her.

--

By the time Squall drove Rinoa to her hotel and returned home to his own apartment, Seifer was already waiting for him. Leaving his car in the parking garage, he felt strange when he left the apartment building. Being so close to his son and not seeing the boy felt wrong, but Lore wasn't expecting him back until midnight.

Outside, Squall moved towards the ex-knight's idling car. Through tinted windows, he glimpsed the man reach over to open the door from within. He didn't want to cast judgment before the date even began, but he couldn't help but wonder what role he was playing. Seifer had assured him he wasn't being treated as a woman.

Loosening his tie, Squall worked on removing the stifling bit of fabric from around his neck. Wherever the blond had made reservations, he doubted he needed to be wearing a tuxedo.

Slipping into the passenger seat, Squall felt knots form in his stomach. As he fashioned his seatbelt, he berated the anxiety welling up inside.

Seifer observed the brooding swordsman. "Look a little happier why don't you," he clipped.

Stirring from his thoughts, Squall regarded the ex-knight with surprise.

Frowning, Seifer studied stormy blue eyes. "Welcome back," he said. He knew his rival had a bad habit of drifting off, but he thought such occurrences only happened during uneventful moments of the day. "Absent minded doesn't suit you."

"It's the opposite actually," Squall replied. He couldn't stop thinking. Sitting there beside the ex-knight, his thoughts ran wild and his heart wouldn't settle down.

Smirking, Seifer prodded, "Is the prince of composure nervous?"

Squall simply glared in response.

Smirk broadening, Seifer put the car in gear and pulled out. "It's sweet really," he continued, his eyes casting a quick glance to the less than amused brunet beside him. Delicate features were set in a hard expression. He decided not to tease the man too much. The night was still young. "I'm messing with you," he said, still grinning.

"I know," Squall muttered.

"Are you going to brood all night or will you tell me what's stealing your attention from me?"

Squall quirked an eyebrow. "Jealous?"

"Yes, actually," Seifer grumbled. "Under the circumstances, I have a right to be the only thing on your mind."

Squall couldn't help but smile faintly. "It is you," he murmured quietly, speaking more to himself than the ex-knight.

Eyes on the road ahead, Seifer asked, "What's me?"

Settling back into his seat, Squall watched the passing buildings outside his window. He hesitated for a moment. Thoughts were easy to have, but difficult to explain. "Tonight, this date. I'm confused."

Seifer understood Leonhart's confusion. He was not a stranger to the uncertainty surrounding their tentative relationship. Wanting to address any concerns head on, he prompted, "Confused about what?"

Not answering immediately, Squall simply stared out the window. After several moments, he answered, "About how I feel." Before the ex-knight could laugh at his insecurity, he questioned, "Where do you see this going?"

"I don't know where it's going," Seifer answered succinctly. His tone was stern, impressing just how serious he took the subject. He needed Leonhart to understand that he wouldn't make jokes, not if it meant discouraging the man from opening up to him. "That's the point of dating, to see how things work out," he added.

Squall remained silent for a while. He appreciated the blond's level of sobriety. His confusion and concerns remained unabated. There was nothing normal about what he was doing. Fourteen years of rivalry followed by sixteen years of having nothing to do with each other wasn't some precursor to romance. He wondered if he had changed, or if Seifer had changed.

Seifer detected something amiss. "I can't drive and read your thoughts at the same time."

"It's nothing," Squall said. His expression remained impassive.

"It's something," Seifer countered. Glancing over at the brunet, he observed an indifferent demeanor. If he didn't capture his rival's attention, the man would fade away. He didn't want to spend the night with a recluse. He needed Leonhart's attention for himself.

"No," Squall denied. There was indeed something bothering him, but he needed time to sort through his jumbled thoughts. Sitting beside the handsome blond, he was faced with the reality of his actions. He was on a date with his nemesis. If he disregarded his frightening uncertainty, he was actually content, excited even. The math didn't add up.

"Leonhart, I know you well enough to know when something is bothering you. You can say it now or wait until we're eating dinner."

Biting his lip, Squall hesitated. With a million concerns running through his head, he couldn't suppress the desire to express at least one of them. He had been fine all week, even at the training center earlier that evening. The moment he had spotted the blond's car outside his apartment building, doubts and concerns had bred like rabbits.

There was one issue that Squall was willing to divulge. He concluded that it wouldn't be fair to lead the blond on, and that he should admit to a certain level of ineptness. "This is new to me," he informed.

"It's new for me too," Seifer pointed out. Glancing at his side, he saw worry etched in the delicate lines of the former commander's face. "Just relax," he soothed. "It's hard enough to be civilized without tension in the air."

"I didn't mean it like that," Squall refuted.

When no further explanation was forthcoming, Seifer prompted, "Care to elaborate?"

"It's new," Squall impressed. Gazing at the ex-knight, he beseeched the man to understand his meaning without any embarrassing explanations.

Brows furrowing, Seifer studied earnest grey-blue eyes. "Are you referring to Bernhein?"

"No," Squall said firmly. "This has nothing to do with Cale."

"Then explain it to me," Seifer urged. "In full sentences, if you can manage that much."

Sending a withering glare, Squall's annoyance quickly dissipated. His expression softened with the knowledge that the ex-knight was sincerely trying to understand his meaning. Gathering the right words, he felt compelled to successfully relate his reservations about their date. "I've never been serious with anyone," he admitted quietly. "Cale was the first person I ever really dated, but it was more friendship than courtship."

A smile threatened to tug at Seifer's lips. Hearing that Bernhein hadn't been much of a lover was satisfying. Clearing his throat, he concentrated on the point his rival had made. "I'm not asking you to move in with me," he said. His thoughts returned to what Leonhart had said about the professor. He grinned victoriously.

"I know," Squall stated. Turning his attention to the passing scenery, he decided to let the matter drop.

By the time Seifer finished mentally gloating over Leonhart's deceased ex-boyfriend, the window for responding had closed. Backtracking, he realized what ailed his reticent partner. "You want to know where this is going," he reiterated. "In case there comes a time when I do ask you to move in with me."

Stirring from his thoughts, it took Squall a moment to find his focus on the blond. He gave the man a supplicating look. Seifer understood his concerns, which was some progress towards laying them to rest.

"I get it," Seifer assured. "The thing is, you can't know something like that." Seeing the inexperienced confusion in stormy blue eyes, he understood how new all of this was to his rival. "This is a first date. Given our history the night is likely to end with bloodshed."

"Then why are we doing this?" Squall asked.

"You tell me," Seifer returned. "I asked you to go out with me because I felt differently about you. For me, this is about exploring that difference. Why did you accept?"

Brows furrowing, Squall stated the obvious, "I wanted to."

Pulling into a parking lot, Seifer spoke with divided attention. "When you figure out why you wanted to, then you can move on to the bigger questions." Slowing to a stop, he hastily cut the engine and turned his all his focus on his rival. Reaching over, he drew the brunet closer. Kissing soft lips, he tasted Leonhart's sweet flavor. He relished the pureness of it, untainted by his seed. Drawing back, he grinned with satisfaction. "The question I'm working on is why does it feel so damn good kiss you?"

--

Smalltalk wasn't exactly what Seifer anticipated from his date. Leonhart was quiet, but it wasn't an uncomfortable silence. He enjoyed watching, observing how the picky eater exiled the onions in the salad to the side of the dish. He caught his rival's eye and smirked.

"What?" Squall questioned, realizing he was the subject of the blond's amusement.

"Nothing," Seifer answered, his smirk becoming a grin.

Squall frowned.

"I like to look at you," Seifer explained. He chuckled when the brunet's frown became a scowl accompanied by a flustered blush. "I thought this might be awkward," he admitted.

Expression softening, Squall took a sip of wine. He had harbored similar expectations of an uncomfortable evening. "Me too," he said.

Seifer searched stormy blue eyes. Many moments passed, but he simply continued to stare. He didn't feel the need to fill the silence with words or useless gestures. With Leonhart, silence was never empty. There was always some communication or understanding between them that didn't need to find expression. He only needed to observe the man's eyes to know. He heard questions and gave answers by sight alone. Nothing was lost or wasted.

When Seifer realized he was marveling over a level of intimacy that was actually rather disconcerting, he turned his attention elsewhere. "This place is a little stiff, but I wanted to take you somewhere nice. It makes things more official."

The restaurant had a private atmosphere. The tables were spaced far apart. Though the vaulted ceiling threatened to echo conversations, they were stationed near a partitioning wall.

Casting a cursory glance around, Squall considered the blond's meaning. It was definitely the sort of restaurant where couples dined. "You're erasing any doubt," he concluded.

"There's enough ambiguity between us. If we're going to date, then it should feel like a date," Seifer declared. "In theory, it should make this less confusing."

"It's still confusing," Squall replied.

Seifer studied the former commander. Regardless of his own confusion, he felt it necessary to eliminate his partner's uncertainty. He didn't know how else to express the reason for their date. "It was more than just sex for me," he said bluntly. "Maybe not at first, but it became something."

Though surprised by the ex-knight's abrupt declaration, Squall appeared indifferent. "What is it now?" he questioned. There were too many vague terms. He didn't know what 'something' meant.

Seifer grasped for a solid term. "Interest," he said. "I'm interested in you."

Eyes darkening, Squall appeared affronted. "Like a toy?" he questioned evenly.

"No," Seifer groused. Eyes narrow, he silently scolded Leonhart for suggesting such a crude manner of treating a person. He might have been a real bastard at times, but didn't play with people like toys. "Why are you so insecure?" he muttered.

Squall's reply was too quick to be anything but honest. "Because you affect me more than anyone," he replied succinctly. The scowl he wore suggested his disapproval.

Seifer's heart drummed faster upon hearing Leonhart's reply. He wished the man didn't show such disapproval. He wanted his supposed affect to be esteemed as good. "I've always known your weaknesses," he reasoned. "You were never insecure before." Insecurity meant distrust. He viewed trust as invaluable. It was frustrating for him to receive hope and discouragement at the same time.

"You make me feel things," Squall defended. He couldn't help having insecurities. "I lose control around you. It's…" He didn't want to admit the truth.

Eyes alight with shared understanding, Seifer offered a single word, "Terrifying?"

Squall stared into jade-green eyes for a long moment. Seeing that he wasn't the only one feeling frightened of the unknown, he nodded. "You have power over me. It's unsettling."

Seifer smirked. "In case you hadn't noticed, you have the same leverage against me," he stated. "Whatever power you think I have, it's pointless to have it when I can't think straight."

Squall dropped his gaze to the center of the table. He became introspective, giving no response to the ex-knight's reassuring words.

In an uncharacteristically tender move, Seifer reached out and gently nudged his rival's chin higher. Directing the thoughtful man's gaze back to himself, he met the tumultuous depths of stormy blue eyes. Still cupping a delicate chin, he let his touch linger. With an unspoken promise never to intentionally hurt the swordsman, he asked, "Do you trust me?"

Squall's lips formed an answer automatically. "No," he said evenly.

Hand dropping away, Seifer sat back and appeared as though he had just been struck. Hastily masking his reaction, he swallowed his spurned emotions. He didn't understand Leonhart's distrust. "You could at least take a minute to think your answer over," he muttered.

"I don't need a minute," Squall said. With so much he didn't understand about both himself and the ex-knight, he couldn't trust anything about their relationship. He knew what he felt on a physical level, but he couldn't touch an emotion or confirm its existence. He didn't trust himself, let alone the man who caused such upheaval.

"Why not?" Seifer snapped. The desire to possess Leonhart unwavering trust grew each passing moment. He needed to have it. He glared harshly, resenting the brunet for withholding.

"I trust you in battle," Squall offered uncertainly, not understanding why the ex-knight seemed so upset.

Seifer's expression only hardened. "Thanks for the bone, but I don't need any consolation prizes."

"I didn't mean-"

Seifer interrupted. "Forget it," he bit out. Pushing back from the table, he rose from his seat. "Come one, I'll take you home."

TBC…

Author's note: Oh my, that ended on a much more sour note than originally intended. A steamy goodnight kiss was what I had in mind, but this is where their clashing personalities led me instead. I'm sorry for the long wait. My semester is officially over, so look forward to more timely updates. As always, I adore reviews, so rant away and send it to me. (Sorry for any errors. The proofreading was rushed.)


	39. Chapter 39

Defining Love

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Seifer pealed out of the parking lot. Glancing anywhere but at the oblivious brunet beside him, he sulked. Bitter feelings churned inside him. He had been rejected.

"You're angry," Squall said as he observed the sternly set expression on the ex-knight's face.

"Ya think?" Seifer groused.

Having stated the obvious to break the ice, Squall fell silent and tried to determine why the ex-knight was in such a bad mood. He recognized that the sudden turnabout revolved around the man's question of trust, but he didn't think the hot-tempered swordsman would become so fired up over the issue. It seemed unreasonable. "Why?" he asked, suspecting that there might be an underlying cause for the blond's irritability.

"What do you mean 'why'?" Seifer returned brusquely. He wasn't too clear on why he wanted Leonhart's trust so badly, only that he did. It was important to have. He wanted everything the reticent swordsman had to offer. He hated being denied.

Brows furrowing, Squall appeared troubled and confused. "This is because I said I don't trust you," he ventured. He expected the blond to tell him that there was more to it.

Scoffing his disbelief, Seifer muttered, "You deserve a prize for figuring that one out."

Squall scowled. "I didn't think you were so sensitive," he responded.

Looking at the brunet for the first time since leaving the restaurant, Seifer opened his mouth to make a rebuttal. No words came to mind.

A heavy silence filled the car. While Seifer fixed his attention on the road, Squall stared at the blond's stern profile.

Feeling the intense gaze of steely-blue eyes, Seifer bristled in his seat. "I'm not sensitive," he defended. "Trust is important."

Continuing his unrelenting study of the ex-knight, Squall tried to read the man's thoughts. He agreed that trust was important, but he also knew that there were many degrees and variations of trust. "Do you trust me?" he asked.

Answering succinctly, Seifer supplied a firm, "Yes."

Squall gave the ex-knight a skeptical look. He waited expectantly.

Seifer shot the brunet a sidelong glance. Seeing doubt in sharp grey-blue eyes, he reflected on his answer. "Maybe," he amended. "I don't know." Gripping the steering wheel tighter, he became angry that his rival could cause him to feel such diffidence. He wasn't the sort of person who harbored doubt. He always knew exactly what he felt and what he wanted. Leonhart was making everything a hazy blur of 'maybe' and 'possibly'.

Squall was becoming frustrated. In the far reaches of his mind, he sensed a struggle. He imagined that the only possible way he could understand so little about himself was because he wasn't allowing himself to see the truth. Perhaps that was why he had searched for answers by asking Seifer. He couldn't trust his own perspective. Now that he couldn't rely on the blond's advice either, the lack of answers and mounting questions started to wear him down.

"You're a hypocrite," Squall said, his voice carrying an uncharacteristic edge of heat.

"And you're a tease!" Seifer shot back.

Practically welcoming an argument, Squall allowed himself to be goaded. "What does that mean?" he rejoined, leaving himself open for an attack. Fighting with Seifer was familiar. He knew how to fight with the man. He could handle squabbles and exchange insults with ease.

Seifer failed to retort in a timely manner. He fell silent. At a stoplight, he spared a moment to directly address his rival. Shifting, he turned to the side and leveled the brunet with a piercing gaze. "You do something to me like you did back in my office, and then you withhold everything afterwards," he said. Leonhart ran hot and cold. One minute, the man was sucking him off, drowning him in pleasure. The next minute, he received a slap in the face.

Eyes widening, Squall openly expressed his disbelief. "This is because I didn't let you watch me masturbate?" he remarked incredulously.

"That's not what I meant by withholding," Seifer refuted. "Though, I would like to lodge a valid complaint over that too."

"You're impossible to understand," Squall declared.

"Me?" Seifer scoffed with an affronted air. "I'm impossible?"

Squall's lips pressed together, forming a straight line that seemed to reaffirm his statement.

Glaring at the road, Seifer announced, "I have news for you, Leonhart. You are the fussiest piece of tail I've ever tapped."

Leveling the ex-knight with an icy glare, Squall quipped, "Bold words for a man who has tantrums for no apparent reason."

Fingers clenching around the steering wheel murderously, Seifer bit out, "Hyne, I want to throttle you right now."

"You could try," Squall dared coolly.

Seifer took a sharp turn. Changing course, he began driving in the opposite direction of Leonhart's apartment.

"Where are you going?"

"My training center," Seifer hissed.

--

In a locker room, Squall undressed. Slipping out of stiff dress shoes, he glanced around at the pristine lockers and spotless tiled floor. The room was nostalgic, bearing a close resemblance to the men's locker room in Balamb Garden's training center.

Appearing from around a row of locker's Seifer approached with a set of neatly folded clothes in each hand. He had two pairs of sneaker's slung over his right shoulder. "Try these," he said. He tossed a set of spare clothes at the brunet's head. Plucking the line of the smaller sneakers from his shoulder, he threw them to the ground near Leonhart's feet.

Catching the clothes, Squall let them drop to floor atop the sneakers while he finished undressing.

Seifer watched Leonhart for a moment. His continued irritation wouldn't let his thoughts stray too far. Tearing his attention from the sight of his rival's exposed torso, he began to roughly unbutton his own shirt.

Down to his boxer briefs, Squall examined the clothing he had been supplied with; a simple pair of black soccer shorts and white t-shirt. Shorts weren't his ideal for sparring, but considering the impromptu circumstances, he was grateful to have any alternative to his tuxedo.

Flinging his dress shirt inside an open locker, Seifer faltered when unzipping his pants. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied Leonhart slipping into the shorts he had provided. The former commander had a firm and well-shaped ass. Though he stood by his assessment that Leonhart was fussy, the man was also the most enticing piece of tail he had ever encountered. One look at that pert ass and he was prepared to do anything to have his hands on it.

Squall found that the shorts rode low and the waist was a little loose. There was no drawstring, so he folded the waistband until he was assured that they would stay in place.

Still observing the brunet covertly, Seifer acted on impulse. Stepping up behind the scantily clad man, he set his hands on a narrow waist.

Squall jumped in surprise. "What are you doing?" he asked in an accusing tone.

Seifer smirked. "A month ago you would have told me to stop touching you," he said smarmily.

Blushing, Squall realized that the blond was right. A normal reaction would have been rejection, not inquiry. "Let go," he said, though he was too late to keep the arrogant man from becoming even more arrogant.

Gently squeezing firm flesh, Seifer measured his rival's waist against the size of his hands. "You're tiny," he stated. Although Leonhart was taller than most women he had dated, the former commander had a slim figure for a man. The brunet's body wasn't scrawny, just lean and firm. He wasn't used to touching such a hard body. He was used to soft curves and flesh that had some cushioning to it.

Jerking away, Squall turned on the ex-knight and glared. "That never stopped me from beating you," he pointed out.

"We'll see about that," Seifer returned. However slim Leonhart appeared, the man didn't lack for strength.

--

In the center of the open stadium, Squall glanced around and assessed his obstruction free surroundings. Taking an interest in the dirt ground, he studied it for a moment. "Is there a retractable floor?" he questioned, wondering where the polished wooden floor had gone.

"It seemed like a good idea, but it put me way over budget," Seifer said. He stood across from his rival, wearing a forest green t-shirt and black shorts. Silver gunblade in hand, he double checked the clip to make sure it was empty. It was a new Hyperion model he had wanted to test. It was heavier than what he was used to.

Wielding his favored Revolver model, Squall checked the cylinder for bullets. In a real battle, he had no issue exploiting the firepower of a gunblade. In a spar, it was about swordsmanship. Taking stance, he waited for the blond to start the fight.

Seifer launched forward to take the first strike. Advancing aggressively, his weapon cut the air with a menacing force.

Digging his borrowed sneakers into the packed dirt, Squall crouched low and raised his gunblade in defense. Eyes sharpening, he counted on his experience and instinct to tell him when to move.

As Seifer's blade arced down at the brunet, his eyes barely managed to register the swift fighter's movement. The clash of metal rung through the air, echoing off like discharged electricity throughout the empty stadium.

Squall ducked low, parrying the ex-knight's strike and then deflecting it. As he darted forward, his blade shaved against the blond's, pushing it off by using momentum that was already there.

They stood in exchanged positions. A clear offensive and defensive wouldn't be made until they had both warmed up.

Spinning around, Seifer faced the former commander. He flourished his weapon in an unnecessary show before holding it out defensively. He waited for Leonhart to attack.

Taking a deep breath, Squall calmed himself. Creeping forward, he approached the blond slowly. Suddenly lunging, he swung from the side. The ex-knight was quick to defend, and then force his blade away. Following with a second attack, he dropped low and spun a kick to the back of the tall fighter's knees.

Balanced lost, Seifer hit the ground. He rolled away in time to see a silver blade pierce where his head had been. Regaining his footing, he stood and met the chilling gaze of steely eyes.

Stepping in unison, they circled each other while biding time. Seifer broke form first, rushing forward to unleash a quick series of jabbing swings. The brunet artfully dodged, dancing from side to side.

Driven backwards, Squall ducked and evaded each dangerous stroke. When he detected a slight lag in the blond's swings, he made a stand. Raising his blade, he absorbed the strike instead of dodging. He blocked a series of hits, the metallic clang ringing violently in short bursts. He anticipated the moment when the ex-knight would tire.

Breathing heavily, Seifer felt the strain of wielding his gunblade with a single hand. His arm burned, the muscles working to slug the extra weight with force and precision.

Taking advantage of his opponent's temporary weakness, Squall feigned a move to defend, but dodged instead. The blond was thrown off balance by the unexpected move. Pivoting on foot, he spun around and swung at the tall swordsman's side. Without charging, there wasn't much momentum to make a powerful strike.

Seifer cast his weapon up in time, holding it vertically and saving his arm from being severed. A spar with Leonhart was never friendly. It was always dangerous, and he loved every moment of it.

Squall was about to retreat, but stayed his position at the sight of a mischievous grin. He met playful green eyes. Staring for a tense moment, he studied the raw emotion evident in honest eyes. He envied the ex-knight's ability to express every thought and emotion. Even with the bad reputation that such bluntness earned, there was freedom in it.

Warmth gathered in Squall's chest. The sensation swelled, spreading throughout his body. He felt his lust for battle give way. Reality began to fade as he became absorbed in the ex-knight's gaze. Unconsciously, the tension left his arms and he eased the pressure behind his weapon. His mind felt dazed, much like being under a spell.

Eyes narrowing, Seifer studied the abrupt change in his rival. Steely eyes softened, warmth replacing the cold calculative edge. Color rose in pale cheeks, a faint blush he recognized from when the brunet had writhed beneath him in bed.

Squall fought the urge to reach out touch the ex-knight. His eyes were drawn to the swarthy skin of the man's neckline. He had never found anyone so attractive. The roguish swordsman incited more lust in him than he had ever thought himself capable of having. He was embarrassed by such urges, but there was no denying what he felt.

Seifer nearly groaned beneath Leonhart's heated gaze. He could see the supplication in stormy blue eyes. Whether or not it was a conscious act, the pretty-boy was begging to be ravished.

Squall knew that if he dropped his weapon, the blond would take him. If he surrendered, he would be drowned in pleasure.

"Careful," Seifer warned. "I'll do it right here."

"I know," Squall returned. His body ached to be filled. Taking a deep breath, he tried to steady his breathing. He willed his desires away. He didn't want to be the sort of person accustomed to having such lewd thoughts.

Licking his lips, Seifer eyed the former commander with hunger. Knowing that Leonhart was having lewd thoughts about him turned him on.

As his arms grew tired, Squall made up his mind. In a quick break, he stepped back. Distancing himself from the blond didn't help. Despite the coolness of the air in the open stadium, the heat was overwhelming. His clothing felt constrictive and heavy.

Releasing a breath he had been holding unconsciously, Seifer stared at the brunet with sharp eyes. "Do you want to fight or fuck?" he questioned. He resented how easily Leonhart swayed his emotions. He was willing to do whatever the brunet desired. If Leonhart wanted to keep sparring, then he would continue to fight and enjoy it. If the man wanted sex, then he would become a willing slave and gladly fulfill the former commander's every desire. His willingness was pathetic.

"Fight," Squall said tersely. He wanted so much more, but refused to articulate any of it. Shaking his head, he tried to rid himself of his desire. It was useless. His body pleaded for him to abandon the spar for more gratifying activities.

Nodding his compliance, Seifer raised his blade. "I should warn you," he said, his eyes still piercing in their stare.

Squall inclined his head and waited.

A devilish smirk came to Seifer's face. "You've got me hot and bothered. I'm gonna fight you like I want to fuck you," he stated. The severity in his gaze suggested that he was quite serious.

Confusion registered in stormy blue eyes.

"Rough and hard," Seifer elaborated. He laughed at the blushing swordsman. He loved teasing the reserved man. Leonhart tried so hard to hide every emotion. He considered it his duty to disrupt the man's cool.

Glaring, Squall muttered, "Whatever."

As much as Seifer enjoyed getting a rise out of the brunet, he was serious. If he couldn't express his rampant lust through sex, then he would find an outlet in their spar.

When the ex-knight came at him, Squall's mind found its focus again. In the heat of battle, survival trumped everything else. He smiled as he raised his weapon to defend himself. It was a small and narrow victory, but he felt like he had regained some control.

--

In silence, Squall stood before the locker with his clothes neatly folded inside. Toeing out of borrowed sneakers, he glanced at the blond beside him. They were both a sweating mess.

Unlacing his sneakers, Seifer finished catching his breath. "That was good," he commented. His words fell flat. The atmosphere was heavy. Standing up, he regarded the brunet.

Stepping closer, Seifer reached out and touched the side of Leonhart's face. A delighted shiver ran through his body when the man didn't flinch back or show the slightest bit of refusal. "You have dirt on your face," he explained.

Squall bit his lip, trying to settle his racing heart.

"Do you want to take a shower?" Seifer questioned. He stepped even closer.

Nodding faintly, Squall waited for the ex-knight to make the next move. He assumed there was hidden subtext to the man's question.

Eliminating the distance between them completely, Seifer hauled the pale swordsman close. He leaned in to kiss the man, but stopped short. His lips were a hair's breadth away. He felt Leonhart's hot breath. The torment of denying himself what he wanted was sweetly seductive.

Opening his eyes, Squall gazed up and tried to determine why the blond didn't kiss him. Releasing a shaky breath, he leaned forward to finish what the man had started.

Seifer evaded Leonhart's lips. He chuckled when the needy fighter fisted his shirt and demanded his cooperation.

Drawing back, Squall gave the ex-knight a look of petulant annoyance. He didn't want to play games.

"Soon," Seifer assured. Hands set on slim hips, he hiked Leonhart up against his body. Lean legs quickly wrapped around his waist, bringing their pelvises together. He began to suspect that the torment he felt half the time was the price he paid for the pleasure he felt the other half.

Squall let the ex-knight pick him up, though he distantly recalled a time when he would have refused such manhandling. The blond walked him to the shower room, and then back against the cold tile of the shower room wall. Winding his arms around the man's neck, he finally met hungry lips.

Reaching out blindly, Seifer turned the tap on. Icy water rained from the showerhead mounted on the wall. When the spray hit him, he jolted in surprise.

"Shit," Seifer cursed. Breaking away from his rival's mouth, he adjusted the water's temperature. Turning his attention back to his willing partner, he suggested, "Let's get you out of these clothes."

Releasing his hold on the blond's neck, Squall leaned back against the wall. He tightened his legs to keep from falling. When the ex-knight tore at his sodden shirt, he lifted his arms and let the man remove it. Wanting to feel Seifer's skin against his own, he reached down and grappled to lift the man's shirt up. Water cascaded down, jetting over his head and hitting the arrogant swordsman in front of him. It ran between them, pooling where their bodies pressed tightly together.

Once they were both shirtless, Seifer hugged Leonhart's frame. Kissing the swordsman, he reveled in the feel of the man's exposed flesh pressing against him. As they became drenched, he let his hands slide down to grope firm buttocks. His fingers dug into supple skin, clawing at low riding shorts.

Squall gave a stifled sound of surprised when an invasive finger breeched his entrance. His shorts were pushed lower. Strong hands began to knead his buttocks, spreading him as a single penetrating digit sunk deeper.

"Is this okay?" Seifer questioned. Removing his finger from inside the brunet, he met stormy blue eyes and waited for permission. "Can I be inside you?"

Nodding, Squall ran his fingers through the ex-knight's hair. Clutching wet strands, he leaned in and kissed the man with fervor.

Seifer pressed against Leonhart's tight portal. Pushing inside, smooth walls clamped around his finger. The man felt twice as hot on the inside. He pushed deeper, wanted to sink farther into inviting warmth. His cock throbbed, pulsing with the desire to shove inside the tight entrance that his finger explored.

In a heated frenzy, Squall and Seifer touched each other. Tongues twining relentlessly, they kissed without any regard for swollen lips or starving lungs.

Squall rocked against the ex-knight. He could feel the man's bulging erection pressing against his own. He couldn't tell how many fingers were inside him. Spikes of pleasure radiated each time a stretching digit raked against his prostate gland.

Though Seifer tried to concentrate, he began to succumb to mindless pleasure. He didn't want to stretch Leonhart too roughly, and he wanted to keep a firm hold on the rocking body pinned between him and the wall. The harder Leonhart ground against his pelvis, the more difficult it became to focus. The heated friction of their rubbing bodies threatened to make him come prematurely.

"Wait," Seifer said. He tried to break away from his rival's plush lips, but the vixen wouldn't let him stop so easily. A coiling tongue slipped into his mouth, urging him to continue their kiss. Unable to deny the stubborn creature a moment of pleasure, he lost himself in plundering the man's mouth once again.

When the ex-knight's fingers began to thrust in and out of him, Squall cast his head back with a moan. Sinking his teeth into his bottom lip, he bit down to stifle the noises he made involuntarily. He arched his back, his hips thrusting against the blond's fingers.

Short of breath, Seifer took a moment to regain his senses while he drove his rival insane. His reprieve didn't last long. Leonhart's hand strayed down, wedging between their bodies to cup his groin. Before he could stop the man, frisky fingers slid inside his shorts and gripped his cock. He groaned when the brunet began to stroke him.

"You'll make me come," Seifer warned. Seeing dazed stormy blue eyes, he realized he wasn't the only one nearing orgasm. Though he could think of better ways to find fulfillment, the first way being buried inside the swordsman's body, he understood that neither of them had the stamina to last very long.

"Seifer," Squall murmured. Panting for air, he was unable to stifle unbidden moans.

"We'll do it like this," Seifer said. With three fingers inside the gasping beauty, he thrust harder and deeper. The flush of color in pale cheeks and heavy lids over dazed eyes encouraged him to finish what he had started. The sounds Leonhart made were positively sinful. Each sweet moan shot straight to his cock.

Rocking more urgently, childhood rivals used their hands to pleasure each other. Squall stroked the ex-knight's manhood. Seifer thrust his fingers deeper into the moaning brunet's body.

In a blind haze, Squall climaxed. Clinging to the pretentious blond, he buried his face in the crook of the man's neck. Warm water gushed against the back of his head. He felt his body clench around the ex-knight's fingers, securing them deep inside himself. His legs tightened their hold, forcing pressure against his spurting manhood.

Seifer turned his head, nudging against Leonhart's sopping hair. Water hit his face. Leaning forward more, he pressed the brunet back against the wall, allowing for the water to skim overhead and roll down his back. Holding onto his rival, he felt the man's body tense and shudder as he drove his fingers deeper into clenching depths. He nipped at the man's ear. Still rocking his hips into the stroking hand down his pants, he finally came.

Squall gripped Seifer's cock firmly. He stroked the thick organ as best he could between their interlocked bodies. Pleasure coursed through him, making it difficult to concentrate on anything except the blissful experience. Minutes seemed to pass before his climax abated. His muscles strained to keep their position. Finally winding down from blinding ecstasy, he eased his legs' clenched hold on the ex-knight's waist. He felt sticky release coating his hand, confirming that his partner had also finished.

Seifer removed his fingers from the brunet's body. He sighed with satisfaction as Leonhart gently released his manhood. He loved what Leonhart did to him. The former commander excited him and tortured him. His sexual desires were always satisfied, though never sated. He couldn't get enough. He wanted to take the man home and stay in bed for days, living on a regime of fucking and sleeping.

Slipping his hand out from within the blond's shorts, Squall unlocked his legs. He stood tentatively, his feet gently meeting the wet floor. He didn't have good balance. Seifer held him close, keeping him steady. Bringing his sticky hand between them, he briefly studied the pearly fluid that webbed between his fingers.

Seifer grasped Leonhart's hand and directed it beneath the shower's spray. He watched as the water washed the delicate hand clean. As much as he enjoyed sullying the innocent fighter, he found greater satisfaction in cleaning the man up. He enjoyed washing his rival's body down and scrubbing it clean. He supposed it left a fresh palate to mark again, but there was something more to it that appealed to him.

"I'll take you home after this," Seifer murmured, his tone sounding uncertain, almost a question.

Squall regarded the ex-knight with searching eyes. "Lore is expecting me," he said. He detected reluctance in the confident man's countenance. Spending the night together would have been nice. He was comfortable around Seifer and found it easy to relax. He was able to sleep best when strong arms held him close.

Nodding in agreement, Seifer muttered, "Raijin and Fujin are at my place anyway." He didn't bother suggesting that they could spend the night at a hotel. It was pointless. If Leonhart had intentions of returning home to that possessive brat, he stood no chance of compelling the dedicated father to stay with him.

Still holding the reticent fighter close, Seifer's thoughts raced. Their time together had gone by too fast. He loathed the prospect of parting. Convinced that he could persuade Leonhart to stay a bit longer, he let his hands wander. He pushed the brunet's shorts down until they fell in a heap to the shower floor, leaving the man completely exposed.

"Again?" Squall murmured in mild surprise.

"Hmm?" Seifer hummed a note of question while nuzzling Leonhart's neck. He groped firm buttocks. Splaying the cleft wider, he spread his rival for the taking.

"You're hard again," Squall elaborated. Considering the manner in which the ex-knight touched him, he assumed that the blond wanted more. It was still early. There was time for more, and he certainly wasn't going to reject an offer for it.

Seifer hadn't even realized that he had become hard again. Smirking lewdly, he queried, "Are you up for it?"

Rolling his eyes at the blond's less than subtle innuendo, Squall slid his arms around the man's trim waist. He mimicked what the ex-knight had done to him, pushing wet shorts down until they fell to the floor. Running his fingers along the man's back, he felt toned muscle. Seifer was devastatingly sexy. Richly tanned skin, a muscular body, roguish good looks, piercing eyes, and liberal endowment gave the arrogant man plausible reason to have such a large ego. Despite the devil-may-care attitude, he was even fond of the man's company.

Setting his lips on Leonhart's neck, Seifer nipped and suckled until the brunet's body began to tremble in his arms. He worked his way to plush lips, but was denied permission when he tried to take what he wanted.

When the ex-knight tried to capture his lips, Squall evaded the move. Nipping the man's chin, he waited expectantly for Seifer to try and kiss him again. Dodging again, he almost laughed when a grunt of exasperation sounded and strong arms tightened demandingly.

"You're taunting me," Seifer observed. He smirked, partly amused and partly indignant.

"You're quick," Squall whispered. He was merely returning the favor.

Seifer reached a hand up and fisted the brunet's wet locks. Holding the man's head in place, he finally captured teasing lips. He would sell his soul if it meant he could kiss Leonhart forever. There were too many barriers between them, making it necessary to secure a proper time and location for any intimacy. He wanted unlimited access. He wanted to wake up in the morning and have Leonhart sleeping at his side. If the urge to kiss Leonhart arose, he wanted the brunet within arms' reach. "Hyne, you taste so fucking good. Why is it never enough?"

"I don't know," Squall mumbled. Accepting the ex-knight's tongue, he sighed softly as it danced with his own.

Tasting enough to tide his hunger over, Seifer violently spun Leonhart around. Pushing the brunet's shoulders forward, he prostrated the fighter's body. Using a guiding hand, he positioned himself at his rival's entrance.

Biting his lip, Squall tensed at the feel of the blond's cock nudging inside. He forced himself to relax, taking measured breaths.

"Shit," Seifer cursed in realization. Pulling out, he drew a deep breath to keep from losing control.

"What?" Squall asked, glancing over his shoulder. If his compliant behavior weren't enough to indicate just how much he wanted the blond to take him, he didn't know how else to send the message. Anticipating ecstasy, his body shivered with need.

"No condom," Seifer said tersely.

The veil of lust lifted enough for Squall to process the situation, though his judgment was far from unimpaired. Debating the issue, he concluded that since they were in the shower, it would be fairly easy to clean up afterwards. "It's fine," he said.

Recognizing that he barely had enough willpower to stop before he started, Seifer knew that he wouldn't be able to pull out before ejaculating. If he fucked Leonhart, he would finish with his cock buried deep inside the man. "I can't promise that I won't come inside you," he said. The last time he had come inside Leonhart had been their first time together, which was not exactly his proudest moment. Since then, he had always worn a condom. It was a line he didn't want to cross without consideration for Leonhart's feelings. Somehow, it felt as though it would be a serious violation of the man, the kind that wasn't sexy.

"I said it's fine," Squall reiterated. Still looking over his shoulder, he glared. He didn't like to repeat himself.

Though Seifer understood that Leonhart was ready and willing, he didn't think the man was giving the matter enough consideration. He always wore protection with women, lest little Almasys spawn from his mistake. The only time he had neglected to use a condom had been with Leonhart. Lust had clouded his judgment back then. Though he understood that Leonhart was a man, the irony of the situation was not lost on him. He was with someone he didn't run any risk of impregnating, yet it was the same person who had sired his only child.

A frown of consternation came over Seifer's face. Struck by a ludicrous thought, he realized with each passing moment that it wasn't such a ludicrous concern to have. "I have to ask," he warned. He knew Leonhart would flip out on him, but he had a right to know. He forced himself not to wince as he anticipated his rival's caustic reaction. "Can you get pregnant?"

Eyes widening, Squall stood straight and turned on the blond. "Excuse me?" he bit out. He glared, his eyes taking on a dangerous steely edge.

"Calm down," Seifer urged, holding his hands up defenselessly. "It's a legitimate question." Feeling the unrelenting chill of his rival's icy gaze, he set his hands on narrow shoulders. Squeezing gently, he kept the man from shaking his hold off. "I realize it's a touchy subject to bring up. Hyne knows there are better times, but it's relevant now." Sensing a slight change in the brunet's frigid demeanor, he continued, "You're telling me it's okay to do this without protection. I don't think of you as a woman, but that brat of yours at home makes things a little confusing."

As angry as Squall wanted to be with the ex-knight, he couldn't keep the man's words from making sense. Seifer had never shown an interest in Lore as a son, and details of his pregnancy had certainly never come up. Understanding the blond's concern, he felt his agitation melt away. He murmured a quiet, "No."

Seifer wanted to ask how it worked, but it wasn't the right time. "Okay," he said. Kissing the former commander, he wooed the man back.

Still flustered, Squall didn't let go of his annoyance easily. His grasp loosened the longer the blond kissed him. He began to kiss the man in return. Eventually, the knot of anger faded. Concluding that the ex-knight hadn't actually meant to antagonize him, he accepted the question and let it go.

As the idea of taking his rival without a condom set into his brain, Seifer became intoxicated. There would be nothing between them, nothing separating their bodies. His lust flared. Turning the brunet around again, he waited for Leonhart to lean over without any encouragement from himself. When the willful fighter bent at the waist, waiting for him to enter, he knew he wasn't the only one who still wanted sex. Without further hesitation, he guided the tip of his erection to Leonhart's rosy little anus.

A gasp escaped Squall's lips as the ex-knight slowly pushed inside of him. He had come to like the pain, his body remembering the pleasure that followed.

"It's so hot inside you," Seifer hissed. The inside of his rival felt on fire.

An inarticulate simper was all Squall could manage to answer with. The ex-knight pushed deeper. He had thought the man was already buried, but inches more pressed inside, filling him until his eyes watered. It felt so good.

Seifer ran his hands over the bent brunet's lean back. He kneaded knotted muscles, working to relieve tension. "It's all in," he informed in a soothing voice.

Hands pressed against the wall, Squall arched his back and rocked his hips. He inhaled sharply as both pleasure and pain radiated from the same place.

In slow, tentative movements, Seifer pulled out and pushed back in. Tight muscles gripped his cock like a vice. "Relax more or I'll come," he directed. Leonhart was too tight. If he didn't know any better, he would think the man was a virgin.

"I can't," Squall muttered. There was only so much he could do to relax his body. The muscles that clenched around the ex-knight's cock weren't exactly the easiest to control, especially when they were being stretched beyond their limit.

Seifer tried to fill his head with thoughts that might lessen his arousal, in the hopes of holding out longer despite the heavenly body his cock penetrated. It was impossible. Even if he closed his eyes, Leonhart was all he could think about.

"Just wait," Squall advised. After a few minutes, his body would stretch to accommodate the foreign girth.

Groaning in ecstasy, Seifer drew out again and gave a hard thrust back in. In a husky voice, he murmured, "You expect me to wait?"

A shiver of delight ran through Squall. He didn't know what caused it; the feel of his rival's throbbing manhood moving inside him or the sound of the man's baritone voice. His body responded favorably to both.

"If you can't loosen up, I'll just have to do it for you," Seifer explained. Gripping slim hips, he set a pace. He drew out slowly, and then thrust in quick. Each stabbing assault rocked Leonhart forward and forced delicious noises to sound from the man.

Squall wanted to reach down and touch himself, but he needed both hands against the wall to keep steady. The ex-knight began to pull out nearly all the way, only to drive back in with rough force. Bowing his head, he bent lower, his fingers clawing the wall for support. His knees felt weak, making it difficult to keep standing, but it felt too good to stop. He didn't want a reprieve. He wanted more.

"Harder," Squall hissed. He wanted the blond to pound into him and never stop.

"My pleasure," Seifer returned. Moving faster, he began to nail his rival in a very literal sense.

"Ahhn!" Driven mad, Squall let go of everything. Pleasure rang through his body without pause. The ex-knight seemed to hit his prostate with every thrust. He had always known such stimulation could feel good, but he had never known just how good. Seifer wasn't the first man he had had sex with, but he was the first to make it addictive.

Seifer used his hands to pull Leonhart's hips back while he thrust forward. He sensed the increasing instability of his rival's stance. Recognizing that he was being quite rough, he still couldn't ease up. Slipping an arm around the lithe fighter's torso, he pulled the man upright. Pressing the moaning brunet against the wall, he kept the man pinned while continuing to pound into the compliant beauty.

Writhing with blind passion, Squall felt his senses go haywire. With the cold surface of the wall in front and the heated friction from behind, he felt hot and cold at once, unable to distinguish between the two.

Thrusting faster, Seifer felt his pleasure mount. He was close to climaxing. Leonhart's cries of ecstasy assured him that it was okay to come. He knew his rival was also close.

Reaching an arm over his shoulder, Squall ran his fingers through the ex-knight's wet hair. He clutched drenched strands and tugged hard.

Seifer took direction well. At the urging of Leonhart pulling his hair, he buried his face in the crook of the man's neck and bit down on supple skin. Though he hadn't meant to bite hard, he climaxed in that moment. His teeth broke delicate skin.

Crying out at the feel of teeth sinking into his neck, Squall came blindly. His arousal rubbed against cold tile, the cool surface supplying strange sensations. The ex-knight kept slamming into him, making each jerk of his ejaculating organ last longer.

Cock spurting hard, Seifer wrung every jerk out in shallow thrusts. Leonhart's hot body clamped sporadically, gripping him tighter with each spurt his length gave.

When it was over, Seifer didn't move. He kept Leonhart pinned, his softening manhood still inside the panting brunet. Tasting blood, he released his mouthful of tender flesh. He set a trail of soft kisses over the injured shoulder, silently apologizing for biting too hard.

Arm raised somewhat awkwardly, Squall stroked the ex-knight's hair. He shivered as the man repeatedly kissed his shoulder. His body began to regain equilibrium, and the cold wall felt even colder.

Feeling the brunet shiver, Seifer suspected it was more than the sensation of being touched by him. Reaching out, he adjusted the shower's tap and made the water warmer. "Are you cold?" he asked.

Squall gave a bare nod. He was cold and feeling less comfortable by the moment, but he didn't want to move. The ex-knight was still inside him. He didn't want to feel emptiness of losing their connection.

Wrapping his arms around the lithe fighter, Seifer drew the man back from the wall. He let his manhood slip out of the brunet's slick entrance. His entire body felt degrees colder. The warmth from gushing water didn't abate the chill, but keeping Leonhart's body pressed close seemed to help.

Though Squall thoroughly enjoyed the feel of strong arms holding him tightly, he needed to wash up and return home. Patting one of the blond's arms that crossed over his chest, he said, "I need to wash up."

"I know," Seifer returned. Nuzzling the uninjured side of the swordsman's neck, he squeezed the man tighter. He didn't want to let go. "I don't want to let go," he admitted. He wanted more time together. He didn't want the night to end with their parting.

Squall wriggled in the ex-knight's hold, the feel of semen leaking out urged him to wash up. "Let go," he said.

"You have time," Seifer urged, estimating that it was only a little after ten o'clock.

"No," Squall said, his voice taking on a pleading edge. "I need to shower." It wasn't a matter of returning home on time.

Detecting a note of troubled discomfort in the brunet's voice, Seifer realized that Leonhart wasn't concerned about punctuality. He smirked with dawning understanding. Reaching down, he drew a hand along Leonhart's inner thigh. He felt sticky release dribbling down the man's leg. "Let me look," he said.

Before Squall could protest, the ex-knight had him pressed against the wall again. "Don't," he ordered. The man proceeded anyway, kneeling behind him.

"Sweet Hyne," Seifer exclaimed, staring at the winking hole that seeped his own seed. He watched trails of semen escape, dripping down pale thighs. His heart raced, rushing blood to his groin. Reaching closer, he let his fingers rub against the abused anus, nudging inside and feeling the sticky slickness of cum. In that moment, he almost wished he could get Leonhart pregnant. The notion that his release could do more than mark his territory, but also react and bond with the brunet's body on a biological level was terribly appealing.

"Stop," Squall urged. The detriment of having sex with Seifer was that it never stopped. A single round turned into ten, and he was powerless to refuse the attractive blond. He submitted to passion each time. He feared that thoughts of Lore wouldn't be enough to tether him to reality and lure him home that night.

"So what if you're a few minutes late," Seifer commented. He slipped his fingers deeper, stretching the opening and watching in fascination as his seed continued to drip out.

"We have to stop eventually," Squall pointed out. Biting his lip, he kept from moaning. He wanted to be taken again.

"Not if we meet up in the afterlife," Seifer jibed. He would gladly fuck Leonhart for all eternity.

Squall gasped when the ex-knight stroked the sensitive nub inside him. "Bastard," he muttered ruefully, rocking back involuntarily. That tiny bundle of nerves triggered arousal whether he approved or not.

"I never pretended to be anything else," Seifer reminded.

--

Seifer returned home to a quiet apartment. Now living in the forty-fifth district, only a ten minute drive from his training center, he had finally settled down. There were no towers of boxes stationed in the corner. He had an Estharian ID and had already mapped out a large portion of the city.

His new apartment was a significant upgrade. There were two bedrooms instead of one, and he had a complete kitchen.

Tossing his suit jacket over the back of the couch, Seifer moved through the spacious living room. The entire apartment was dark. Light filtered in from the large window at the far end of the room. Six stories up, he had a decent view of the city's nightline.

Making his way to the kitchen, he flipped the ceiling light on. A clean white light flooded the room, reflecting off every surface. The floor was tiled in black and white squares. The counters were a black marble swirled with smoky gray. White cabinets lined the wall, giving him more storage space than he needed. He was a decent cook, but usually stuck to simple meals.

Seifer was surprised to find another occupant in the kitchen. At the other end of the room, holding the narrow door of the refrigerator open, Raijin stood frozen.

Glancing at his watch, Seifer determined that it was nearly midnight. "Midnight snack?" he queried.

Raijin grinned. "You scared me coming in like that. I thought you were Fujin, ya know?"

"Next time I'll ring the doorbell," Seifer muttered.

Raijin turned his back on the ex-knight and proceeded to rummage around in the fridge. "Fu wants something sweet. She finished off what Leonhart gave her in a day. All you have is healthy stuff."

"I don't eat junk food," Seifer pointed out. Eating healthy had been a lifelong habit that he didn't intend to break just because his pregnant friend was spending the week at his place.

Raijin gave his blond friend a supplicating look. "It's better to cater to Fu's cravings than deal with the consequences, ya know?"

Quirking a speculative brow, Seifer watched as his burly friend searched for sweets. "There should be strawberry jelly on the second shelf. That's about the sweetest thing I buy."

"I think maybe I'll run out to the store real quick," Raijin said, his shoulders slouching in dismay.

Opening a cabinet near the sink, Seifer grabbed a mug and filled it with water. He was glad to find Raijin awake, but couldn't figure a subtle way of bringing up his date with Leonhart without seeming like an overeager fool.

After setting the water for his tea to heat in the microwave, Seifer glanced at his dark haired friend. The man had moved onto the pantry, rustling around in the hopes of not having to make a trip to the store.

Smirking, Seifer casually commented, "If I'd known you were desperate, I would have asked Leonhart for something when I dropped him off."

Raijin's head poked out from the pantry. He appeared reluctant to say anything that referenced the former commander. With a frown, he ventured tentatively, "Is Leonhart still coming over tomorrow?"

"A deal's a deal," Seifer stated. He hadn't let Leonhart leave his car until reaffirming that the man would be visiting the next day. Excitement swelled inside him.

"I found peanut butter. Does that count as sweet?" Raijin asked.

"It has my vote," Seifer assured.

The microwave beeped. Retrieving his mug, Seifer watched Raijin leave the kitchen out of the corner of his eye. He was somewhat disappointed that he had no one to talk to. It was difficult to keep everything bottled up.

With a sigh, he stalked to the pantry. Searching through various boxes of tea, he eventually settled on having green tea. He had enough on his mind to keep him awake that night without caffeine making it worse.

Raijin reentered the kitchen. He found Seifer walking out of the pantry. "She fell asleep," he explained, holding up the jar of peanut butter.

"You didn't feel like joining her?" Seifer muttered.

Grinning sheepishly, Raijin explained, "Ever since she got pregnant, she likes to sleep diagonal. There's no room for me."

Inclining his head in understanding, Seifer said, "I used the couch when my bed was delivered late. It's a decent substitute."

"Thanks man," Raijin said as he moved across the room to return the peanut butter.

Tugging the teabag's string, Seifer tried to hurry the steeping process. He appeared lost in thought. He wondered what peculiar habits Leonhart had formed while pregnant. Hogging the bed and craving sweets were Fujin's latest stunts. As his imagination ran wild, he smiled and chuckled to himself.

Startled by the gentle expression on the ex-knight's face, Raijin stared with wide eyes. "What's so funny?" he questioned cautiously.

"I'm just thinking," Seifer dismissed. Raijin couldn't possibly appreciate the humor he found in thoughts of a pregnant Leonhart.

Eying the ex-knight, Raijin tried to gauge what went on in the man's head. "You're in a good mood," he observed. The blond's behavior was strange. He couldn't identify what was amiss, but something wasn't quite right. It wasn't so much in the man's words or actions, but rather an aura of excitement.

A mischievous gleam came to jade green eyes. "That's what generally happens after a good fuck." Seifer laughed. He didn't bother explaining how much of an understatement his words were. Leonhart was far more than a 'good fuck'. Although dinner had ended on a bad note, the night had been an overall success.

On his way home, Seifer had realized the hitch in his relationship with Leonhart. They had always been good at fighting each other. Causing pain and doing damage came easy. More recently, his rival had proven to be every bit as viable a bed partner as a sparring partner. Their mode of operations was based on extremes. It was a sordid mixture of pleasure and pain. A dinner date didn't fit into the mix. Civility without the sex was neither pain nor pleasure. It was an outlier, unaccounted and untested. He was confident that, in time, they could situate all sorts of things in between fighting and fucking.

Grimacing, Raijin held his hands up. "Come on, man. You're talking about Leonhart, ya know?"

Still smirking, Seifer pointed out, "I've been talking about Leonhart for two months now. You have to get used to it at some point."

Shaking his head, Raijin said, "I'm holding out for when you call it off."

Seifer's smirk fell. His expression sobered. "What makes you think I'll call it off?"

"Common sense, ya know?" Raijin returned. Oil and water didn't mix. At some point the two would separate.

Seifer studied his burly friend's sour demeanor. "You don't like that I'm dating Leonhart," he concluded. He could understand a lack of enthusiasm, but what he saw in his friend's eyes was disapproval.

"Dating," Raijin reiterated thoughtfully. He understood that his blond buddy had taken a fancy to the notion of wooing Leonhart, but that didn't make it a respectable cause. "What happened to that plan of yours to seduce him to prove a point? Haven't you already proven your point? Why drag this on any longer?"

"This isn't about that anymore," Seifer groused. He set his mug on the countertop with a harsh clack. "I'm not trying to prove a point."

Raijin appeared skeptical. "I'm all for you satisfying your ego, ya know? But this is going too far." After running a frustrated hand through his hair, the short strands stood on end. Since learning of the ex-knight's latest penchant for a prickly, cold, enigmatic, male, and recalcitrant partner, he had accepted it under the assumption that it was some elaborate joke. "It's Leonhart, Seifer. What the hell are you doing?"

Seifer scoffed. "I thought that was pretty obvious."

"No, it's not obvious," Raijin disagreed. There had been many times when he didn't agree with Seifer's master plans, but he generally held his tongue. He trusted the man's judgment implicitly, or at least he used to. This was one scheme he couldn't keep quiet about. "You can't just date someone like Leonhart."

"There's no scheme involved," Seifer grumbled. "How many times do I have to tell you?"

"You can tell a lie enough times to make a person believe it, ya know?" Raijin posed. "But that like doesn't make the lie true."

"I'm not lying!" Seifer snapped. Advancing on his friend, he glared. "I want Leonhart," he declared. "I like the fussy bastard."

Swallowing a note of fear, Raijin stood his ground. He was taller and bigger than the ex-knight, but under the narrowed gaze of sharp green eyes, he felt puny. Mustering his voice, he said, "You don't just wake up one day and decide to be gay, ya know? If being into guys weren't bad enough, do you really have to go after Leonhart?"

"I'm not fucking gay," Seifer stated vehemently. "Leonhart's an exception."

"This isn't a board game," Raijin countered. "There aren't exceptions to the rules."

Jaw clenching, Seifer struggled with his mounting anger. Raijin was denying what he felt for Leonhart. "You're starting to piss me off," he hissed.

Raijin cast a cautious glance to the kitchen door. He didn't want to wake Fujin. "I'm just looking out for you, ya know?" he soothed. "This thing with Leonhart can't end well. Since when do you ever chase after someone like you're doing with him?"

With a sigh, Seifer released some of his frustration. He never fought with Raijin. Fujin disagreed with him on a daily basis, but never Raijin. "Maybe I've finally found something worth chasing," he reasoned. Perhaps Leonhart was playing hard to get, but it wasn't the sort of coy game that turned him off. Leonhart was wary of how unpredictable their relationship was, and he understood that. Their date that night had only confirmed his suspicions of how good they could be together. Now, he would stop at nothing to make the former commander his lover.

"You haven't found anything," Raijin refuted. "You've known him your whole life. Whatever he's worth to you now, he would have been worth to you twenty years ago."

"That's bullshit and you know it," Seifer muttered. "Twenty years ago you and Fu did nothing but fight. She means more to you now than she ever did."

Appearing sheepish, Raijin dropped his gaze to the floor and considered Seifer's words. He wanted to deny any similarity in their circumstances, but the ex-knight had a valid point. Twenty years ago, he would have cringed at the idea of dating Fujin. Now he was married to her and about to become a father.

"I expected you of all people to show a little support," Seifer added.

With a frown, Raijin considered what his responsibilities were as a best friend. A crease formed in his brow as he struggled to explain his continued aversion to Seifer dating Leonhart. "I can't condone what I think will be bad for you," he stated.

"How is this bad?" Seifer questioned in exasperation.

"Should I make a list?" Raijin returned.

Scoffing, Seifer stared at the raven-haired man for a long moment. "You never said any of this when I first told you my intentions to date Leonhart."

Raijin scratched the back of his head. Shuffling in place, he explained, "Honestly, I thought you were joking."

"You mean when I repeatedly told you how serious I was?" Seifer queried heatedly.

"Don't be like that," Raijin muttered. "I'm your friend because I don't lie to you. That's what friends do, ya know?"

"As my friend, you should support me." Finally becoming fed up, Seifer brushed past the raven-haired man and left the kitchen. He resented Raijin's disapproval. There were enough people against him already.

Raijin didn't follow the blond immediately. He stood alone in the kitchen for a silent moment, reflecting on his side of the argument. A part of him wanted to back down and concede to the ex-knight's wishes, but he couldn't give his wholehearted support. Turning around, he pushed the swinging door open with force. Forgetting about his sleeping wife, he declared in a firm voice, "If you decided to kill yourself, I wouldn't support you in that."

Halfway across the living room, Seifer paused. The room was dark. Light filtered in from the kitchen while Raijin held the door open, but it did little to brighten the large room.

Without turning around, Seifer bowed his head and spoke over his shoulder. "Killing myself is not an analogy for dating Leonhart," he said in a chilly voice.

Swallowing reflexively, Raijin braced himself for the consequences of defying the short-tempered ex-knight. "It might as well be," he commented.

Lifting his head, Seifer gazed outside the wide arching window along the far wall of the living room. Absently looking at the neon skyline, he concluded that there was no winning his friend's vote of confidence. "He's coming over here tomorrow to help you, but feel free to let him know what you think of him," he muttered darkly. Raijin's opposition stung.

"Hey man, this has nothing to do with me not liking Leonhart," Raijin hastily asserted. He had no qualms with the former commander. "I made my peace with him a long time ago. This is about you."

"I'm not asking anyone's permission," Seifer stated. "Whatever happens, happens."

Not giving Raijin the opportunity to respond, Seifer continued to walk away. Disappearing down a hallway leading off the living room, he made his way to his bedroom.

Raijin stood frozen in the kitchen doorway. He dreaded facing Leonhart tomorrow. If he couldn't make Seifer understand his concerns, he would have to try reasoning with the levelheaded commander.

--

Squall arrived home a few minutes after eleven. The night had seemed longer than it was. From the stiff opening ceremony, to a dinner that was cut short, to his spar with Seifer and everything that had followed.

He anticipated an inquisition from Lore. He suspected that his return was eagerly awaited.

Hair still damp from his extensive shower, Squall did not present the refined image he had left with. His suit jacket was draped over the crook of his elbow and he hadn't bothered buttoning his vest or tucking in his shirt.

Lore rushed to the entryway. His welcoming smile fell at the sight of dishevelment his father presented. "What happened?" he asked, approaching closer to assess the damage.

"Nothing," Squall assured. When Lore rushed to meet him, he saw the young boy who used to tackle him with a hug after he was away on a mission.

Fingering damp hair, Lore asked, "Why is your hair wet?"

"I showered after sparring," Squall answered. As expected, he faced a stream of questions. Inwardly, he smiled at the concern his son expressed.

"Sparring?" Lore mumbled suspiciously.

Coming up behind his grandson, Laguna intoned, "Is that what they're calling it these days?"

Whipping around, Lore exclaimed, "Grandpa!"

Squall made an effort to hide his surprise, instead appearing curious at the older man's remark. He couldn't deny that he had done a great deal more than spar with Seifer.

With a blithe air of innocence, Laguna commented, "You're home earlier than expected."

Brows furrowing, Squall pointed out, "It's after eleven." He had established eleven as a sort of quasi curfew. He knew Lore would await his return, and hadn't wanted to make the boy stay up late.

A goofy, and somewhat mischievous smile brightened Laguna's face. "I planned on spending the night. I didn't think you'd be back until tomorrow."

Eyes widening, Squall stared at his father in uncertainty. He wasn't entirely clear on what the man intended to imply, but he suspected what it might be. "I said I would be home by eleven."

"Love is unpredictable," Laguna returned, still smiling. Hazel green eyes sparkled with secretive knowledge.

"Love!?" Lore intoned incredulously. Turning around, he gave his grandfather a look of petulant disapproval. "Grandpa, do you know what you're talking about?"

"I know a good match when I see one," Laguna said to his stubborn grandson.

Staring in disbelief, Squall was speechless. He blushed when he realized his father was actually supporting his relationship with Seifer. The man's words were wildly unexpected.

Expression sobering, Laguna glanced past his grandson and regarded his damp haired son. "Since you're back, I should take off."

It was a moment before Squall could say anything. He was amazed at the longhaired president's ability to change subjects without even blinking. "Spend the night," he suggested.

Shaking his head, Laguna responded, "There is always work to be done."

Still in a numb state of disbelief, Squall absently nodded his understanding. Laguna usually tried to find excuses to shirk presidential duties. If the man actually intended to pull overtime, then there was an enormous workload to be done. "Thank you for coming over," he said.

Leaving the entryway, Squall passed his son and father. He called a quick, "Goodnight" over his shoulder and proceeded to his bedroom. His son was close to follow.

"Is there going to be a second date?" Lore asked from the bedroom doorway.

Standing before his long dresser, Squall glanced over his shoulder. "There won't be if you're not okay with this." Opening the top drawer, he procured a grey t-shirt and black flannel pants. His body was sore and ready for bed. Laguna's words echoed in his head, making him even more exhausted.

"It's not like I'm not okay with it," Lore muttered. He hesitated in the doorway for a moment. Moving forward, he trudged to his father's bed and collapsed on to it. Gathering his thoughts, he explained, "We've been through this already. Single people date other single people." Eyes following his father as the man disappeared through the open bathroom door, he asked, "But, why now and why him?"

Inside the bathroom, Squall stripped his vest off and began to unbutton his dress shirt. "There are a lot of reasons," he said, speaking towards the doorway to let his voice carry clearly. "It's hard to explain in any exact terms." The truth was, there were no exacts terms. He had no idea what had changed between him and Seifer. The attraction he felt to the arrogant ex-knight could not be denied or even resisted.

"Do you like him?" Lore questioned. The answer seemed obvious, since no one would willingly date someone they didn't like, but he wanted to hear the words directly.

Arms already through the sleeves of the t-shirt, Squall paused for a moment. He caught sight of himself in the mirror above the sink. At the junction of his right shoulder and neck, two rigid lines curved in the shape of a bite mark. The skin was a scarred pink color, standing out against the paleness of his entire body. Surprised by this discovery, he stared for a long moment. He had taken a potion before leaving the training center, but he hadn't noticed that Seifer's bite had scarred. The man seemed to have a penchant for permanently marking him. His eyes lifted to stare at his face. The clean cut running from above his right eye and across the bridge of his nose was now a smooth white line. Over the years, the scar had become less prominent.

"Dad?"

Stirring from his lost examination, Squall cast a startled glance at the open bathroom door. He certainly didn't want his son to see the evidence of the lewd things he had done that night. Quickly donning his shirt, he covered the bite mark. Recalling the young man's questioned, he answered, "Yes, I like him."

Lore simply could not comprehend his father's feelings. The former commander was an excellent judge of character. With a sigh, he rolled over on the bed and lay on his back. "Did the date go well?"

"It didn't go as planned," Squall murmured.

"So the spar wasn't part of it?" Lore questioned. A smile formed on his lips as he considered the implication of a date ending in a battle.

Leaving the bathroom, dressed for bed, Squall regarded his son with a thoughtful expression. Recalling the spar, he smiled softly. "No, but I love to spar," he murmured. He had gone so many years without a good sparring partner. With Seifer back in his life, he would never want for a challenge.

Smile faltering, Lore strained his head back to clearly see his father. The gentle smile he saw was not for him. He flipped about to better see the expression on the man's face.

"What's wrong?" Squall asked. His son's eyes fixed on him intently, searching for something.

"You tell me," Lore returned. Eyeing the skilled fighter, he felt a pain in his chest as he realized there was a subtle glow about the man. He was an expert at reading his father's expressionless countenance.

Squall fought the urge to make sure his shoulder wasn't exposed. He knew Lore couldn't see the mark, and he wasn't about to give anything away. "Nothing's wrong."

"When are you seeing him again?" Lore questioned. He knew without having to ask that his father intended to see the ex-knight again. More dates would follow. He was afraid to consider what came after that.

Studying his son's reaction closely, Squall answered, "Tomorrow."

With a groan, Lore fell to the side, collapsing with a gentle thud. He buried his face in the plush pillows at the head of the bed. Mumbling incoherently, he let a stream of curses fly from his mouth and attack the absent ex-knight.

At the feel of the mattress sinking beside him, Lore turned his head and cast a pitiful look up at his father. He wanted to be happy that the man had returned home unscathed, but Seifer had done more than not harm his father. The ex-knight had managed to put a smile on the reserved fighter's face. "What time tomorrow?" he muttered in a sullen tone.

Reaching out, Squall petted his son's head. The boy was stubborn and distrustful, but he sensed less resistance than before. Continuing his play with short raven strands, he responded, "In the morning."

Closing his eyes, Lore tried to hold onto his bitter feelings towards Seifer. The more his father stroked his hair, the less resentful he felt. "It seems like you can't wait to see him again," he said, his voice sounding far less cynical than he wanted it to.

Squall blushed. "It's not a date."

Pushing upright, Lore regarded his father in earnest. "It's not?" he questioned, sounding hopeful.

Giving his son a look of wry speculation, Squall wondered just how much progress the boy was making towards acceptance. "I'm helping Raijin with something. Since I'll be at Seifer's house, we'll see each other."

"It's really not a date?" Lore questioned skeptically.

"No," Squall affirmed. Although he was looking forward to the next morning, teaching Raijin how to bake did not constitute a date.

"Then, can I come?"

Eyes widening in surprise, Squall stared at the impetuous youth and tried to determine if the boy had any sincere interest in hanging out with Seifer. He suspected that Lore simply wanted to monitor the ex-knight. "If you really want to," he conceded. Regardless of Lore's motivations, it would be a good opportunity to place his son in the same room as Seifer.

"I can't avoid him forever if you're serious about dating him," Lore reasoned. His motivations weren't entirely pure, but he wasn't out to sabotage the boisterous ex-knight. He was curious how someone so annoying could possibly put such a warm smile on his father's face. He needed to see the two together to better understand what it was his father saw in such an insufferable man.

TBC…

Author's note: Wow, this was a really long chapter. Sorry for the long wait, especially considering it was supposed to be a shorter wait. I can't believe it's almost July. Time goes by too fast --

I hope you liked the chapter. I look forward to reading the reviews on it


	40. Chapter 40

"You're wearing that

Defining Love

Chapter Forty

Car keys in hand, Squall was set to leave for Seifer's apartment. Despite his many attempts to smother the warm feelings that crept up inside him, a giddy sense of excitement stirred to life. A full twenty-four hours hadn't even passed since his tentative first date with Seifer. He had spent his night replaying their time together over in his head, dwelling on the more pleasurable moments.

Lore came into the living room, shrugging into a plaid blue dress shirt and leaving it open over a white t-shirt. His eyes locked onto his father. As he approached, he studied the vacant expression on the man's face. The unusually inattentive fighter stood before the balcony door, staring off in deep reverie.

It was evident by the distant stare of stormy blue eyes that Squall's mind was far away. Growing sullen, Lore's lips formed a petulant frown. He knew the subject of his father's thoughts. The perverse ex-knight had carved a place in his father's life, and presently consumed the man's thoughts. He didn't like it, and he didn't hesitate to admit to himself that he wanted each thought given to the ex-knight for himself, or at least spent on a worthier cause. Cognizant that his feelings and actions came across as childish, he remained helpless against the selfish possessiveness he felt.

Squall stirred, sensing his son nearby. Glancing over, he smiled softly. "Ready?" he questioned.

Lore gave a noncommittal shrug of his shoulders.

Not needing psychic abilities to read his son's dark mood, Squall asked, "What's wrong?"

Shifting on foot, Lore appeared reluctant to say anything. He was past complaining, at least out loud. He didn't doubt that Seifer made his father happy, in some twisted sense. Regardless of what he had witnessed and suspected, he had numerous qualms with the relationship. His chief concern was Seifer true intention. He had not seen anything to suggest that Seifer would take care of his father.

When Lore considered the circumstances under which Seifer and his father had hooked up, his doubts multiplied. Seifer could scarcely keep mauling hands off his father. This was a troubling thought, and it led him to inspect his father's appearance under a more critical eye.

"Are you wearing that?" Lore asked.

Squall looked down at his clothes. He wore black pants that fit much the same as his leather pants, but without the flashiness. The material was a popular Estharian blend that gave durability to lightweight fabrics. On top, he wore a plain white t-shirt. It seemed appropriate. He was comfortable and wouldn't be too hot when the temperature heated up later in the day.

Lore was gone in a blur, stalking across the room. Squall watched in surprise as the teen retreated down the hallway. Before he could question what was wrong, his son returned with a crimson sweatshirt.

"How about this," Lore suggested, handing the item off.

Brows furrowed, Squall accepted the offered garment and held it up for inspection. "This is your team sweatshirt," he observed. Stitched on the back was a large soccer ball, done in gold thread. In bold white letters, the name of Lore's high school arched over the top of the red and gold image of the ball. Beneath the ball was the name of the team. On the front, the left breast sported a small, gil-sized version of a gold soccer ball. 'Lore Leonhart' was stitched in white thread above this smaller emblem. For obvious reasons, he wasn't keen on wearing the sweatshirt, the least of which included the fact that it was too big for him.

Seeing that he would have to win his father over to the idea, Lore said, "I figured if you had this on, I wouldn't have to carry it around until the game tonight." It was a sorry excuse. The truth was, the former commander's athletic build drew too much attention. The last thing he wanted was to watch from the sidelines while Seifer ogled his father.

"We can stop home before the game," Squall pointed out. The Toramas were playing in Esthar that night. Lore was eager to see them, which was now a possibility with the season tickets he had given the boy for his birthday. Anyone in the crowd who belonged to a soccer team received free drinks, but a jersey or some form of proof was required. Drinks didn't cost much to begin with, but it was a matter of pride. He knew this, and had watched on several occasions as Lore and hosts of other players, ranging from kindergarten to college, frequented the concession stands.

"I thought we were going to grandpa's," Lore countered. It was Saturday, the day when his grandfather weaseled out of important meetings to visit them. His grandfather did this without fail, no matter how crucial the meeting or how often they had already seen each other throughout the week. Kiros had called his father earlier that morning, no doubt lecturing on the immense workload that his grandfather needed to finish, so they had made plans to visit the presidential palace, which would minimize the time Esthar's leader spent evading work.

Sighing, Squall put his son's sweatshirt on. What did he care if he wore something that paraded the name of a high school? The opinions of others didn't matter to him, and his son was asking for a small favor. From the tone Lore had initially taken towards what he wore, he suspected that the boy found something wrong with his clothes, but it was of little consequence.

Lore was contented at the sight of his father's frame buried beneath the thick folds of his sweatshirt. He considered it an opportunity to gauge Seifer's true intentions. Would the ex-knight express any interest in his father that wasn't physical?

The red hoodie settled down to the mid of Squall's thighs. He had to push the sleeves back to free his thumbs. He looked at Lore and studied the boy's frame. He knew his son was taller than him, but he hadn't realized how much broader in frame the boy had become as well. Lore had grown up so much from the tiny bundle of limbs that needed help crawling into his lap.

"You've gotten smaller," Lore teased.

Squall quirked a quizzical brow. "I don't think that's how it works. How tall are you now?"

Beaming with pride, Lore stated matter-of-factly, "Five-ten, and a quarter."

Only a month ago, Lore had matched his grandfather in height. Now he was the tallest of their trio. Soon, he would be even taller than Uncle Irvine.

In a tentative voice, Squall said, "You get that from Seifer." When he had first noticed his son growing taller than himself, he had attributed it to Seifer. Until right then, he had never dared to actually say so. Now it seemed appropriate. He was dating Seifer. He couldn't pretend that the ex-knight had nothing to do with Lore.

For Lore, the sobering reality of his father's words turned his pride into resentment. He would not recognize any part of himself that came from Seifer. Jaw clenching, he muttered, "It's not a good thing. I'd be a better forward if I could run faster like you. If I weren't so tall, I might be faster." His reasoning was an obvious spite towards Seifer. His long legs, which were very much like the ex-knight's, gave him an important advantage on the field. His father's speed wasn't in running, but agility, which was completely different. He didn't care if it made sense, only that it didn't relate to Seifer.

Squall's heart sank. Lore wasn't ready to acknowledge Seifer on any level. He wouldn't push the boy, but he had hoped the request to join him at Seifer's house was an expression of interest in the man. He may have misjudged Lore's intentions. He tried to gauge the teen's feelings, but found blue-green eyes too guarded to read. Lore had shut him out, and he regretted mentioning Seifer in the first place.

"We should go," Lore said. Turning away, he walked off.

Squall followed without another word.

--

At the sound of the doorbell, Seifer's unmanaged steps brought him to the doorway in record time. His arm was extended to press the release button on the door, but he checked himself at the last second. Eagerness didn't suit him. He was not a desperate man.

Standing straight and squaring his shoulders, he groomed his image. His blond hair was swept back, combed neatly into place, except for a few stray strands that framed his forehead. Accounting for the need to go into work, he had forgone a casual look in favor of something appropriate for being the owner and manager of Esthar's largest training center. He wore slate grey slacks and a deep blue dress shirt. The shirt, tucked in and wrinkle-free, remained open at his collar. He knew Leonhart's penchant for necks, which he planned to exploit at every given opportunity.

Finally keying the release on the door's side panel, Seifer regarded his visitors with keen interest. One dark haired guest was welcome into his apartment, bed, and pants. The other, he would rather leave standing in the hallway.

Jade green eyes roved Leonhart's face. There was a delicate effeminacy to the fighter's sharp features. The former commander didn't look a day over twenty, except in the swirling depths of thoughtful grey-blue eyes, where the knowledge of thirty-five years shone. There was no end to what lay behind Leonhart's eyes, and he couldn't bring himself to stop staring.

Seifer's hands twitched, yearning to touch the object of his desires. He hated having to restrain himself. Balling his passions, he caged them and stepped back to let his guests pass.

Lore was first to step over the threshold. He cast a wary glance at Seifer. The blond didn't appear to notice his presence. There was a dumbstruck expression on the businessman's face, and bright eyes were solidly fixed a point behind him, where his father was.

Squall came in behind his son. Meeting the steady gaze of jade-green eyes, his pulse quickened. A flush of warmth spread through his body. He felt the heat rise to his face. The mere sight of Seifer triggered a flood of emotions and responses, none of which he could control. He was still unaccustomed to such involuntary physical reactions, but he accepted it more readily than he used to. In the back of his mind, he concluded that despite the chaotic lack of control, the feelings that consumed her were not unpleasant.

With longing in his eyes, Squall gnawed on his lower lip, wishing the teeth that sunk into the soft flesh belonged to Seifer. It was no small wonder that his desire flared when the swarthy skin of the robust fighter's collar was on display. He forced himself not to lick his lips.

Raijin and Fujin waited near the center of the living room, watching attentively as though expecting a monstrous accident to occur.

"You find it okay?" Seifer asked, lingering in place until Leonhart drew even with him. He scarcely acknowledged the teen that hovered at his rival's other side.

"I'm here," Squall pointed out. When the ex-knight grinned in response, obviously curbing a witty retort, he gave a faint smile to assure the man of his good humor. He hadn't meant to be sarcastic. In fact, he found it difficult to filter his words when his mind was too busy processing the many thoughts and feelings the blond invoked.

The atmosphere in the room became unbearably awkward. There was a whole circus of elephants in the corner, and no one saw fit to look at them. Seifer wanted to pin Leonhart against the nearest wall and ravish the man, and Squall wanted Seifer to do exactly this. Lore wanted to confront Seifer about the exact nature of his intentions. Raijin didn't know what to make of his best friend drooling over the former commander. Fujin feared she might go into early labor if she had to suppress her laughter at the sight of Leonhart and her husband baking brownies.

"Thanks for helping me out," Raijin said, his eyes invariably drawn to the dark haired youth stationed at Leonhart's side.

Squall gave a bare nod of acknowledgment. For a moment, he had forgotten his reason for coming. The ex-knight's presence was overpowering. Helping Raijin bake was a thinly veiled cover for the real reason he was there. His gaze kept straying to the handsome blond, making it blatantly apparent where his interest truly rested.

Seifer wouldn't deny that his true motive that day was to spend time with Leonhart. He didn't care how well Raijin could bake, or even if the man could boil water without starting a fire. He just wanted Leonhart in his kitchen, where he could enjoy the man's company. He might not be able to touch the fighter without stirring up trouble, but it was better than going the whole day with nothing but thoughts to tide him over until their next date.

Seifer targeted the dark haired teen with a piercing gaze. He found the boy's strangely familiar blue-green eyes staring back at him. Quirking a brow, he inclined his head in a taunting gesture. He couldn't pretend that the he didn't resent the relationship the kid had with Leonhart, or that the youth's presence there that day prevented him from making the most of his time with his new lover.

Raijin observed the confrontational manner in which Seifer gazed at the teenage boy. A frown of disapproval immediately set his features into a hard expression. "Seifer, is that who I think it is?" There was a peculiar familiarity about the boy. He saw the same green in the boy's eyes that he saw in Seifer's.

"This is Lore," Squall informed the burly fighter.

Raijin blinked. The boy was a living, breathing culmination of Seifer and Leonhart. The kid was already a taller than the former commander, with a broader frame that promised several more inches. He didn't know where the hair came from; it was darker than Leonhart's but couldn't possibly have come from someone as blond as Seifer. The kid had a face that was both strong and delicate, very refined except for a certain boyish immaturity to it. The burning fire in mixed blue-green eyes proved that this was Seifer's son.

"Hey," Raijin managed in a terse, monosyllabic greeting. His throat went dry, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. He felt sixteen years weigh down on his shoulders. His best friend's son was nearly a man and he hadn't seen the boy until this day. Shame washed over him.

Fujin stepped closer to her husband, her single eye roving Lore's face in earnest. A nagging maternal instinct told her that Seifer's latest dalliance might have a happy ending. For many years, she had watched Seifer ignore the fact that he had a son. Only now that she had a son of her own on the way could she fathom the importance of having a child in the world. It was a discovery Seifer hadn't made yet, but there was no telling what the near future would hold.

Lore felt the combined gazes of everyone in the room. He fidgeted, forgetting that he was supposed to be watching the ex-knight like a hawk and figuring out what the man intended with his father. "What?" he mumbled self-consciously.

Eyes dropping sheepishly, Raijin regained his senses. "It's, like, nice to meet you," he said. After a moment, he met the boy's eyes again and added, "I'm Raijin and this is Fujin." He gestured to his wife.

Lore returned a stilted, "Hey." He felt strangled by the awkward atmosphere. Surrounded by adults, he felt the separation of age distinctly. It dawned on him that he had accompanied his father into the lion's den.

"What are you wearing?" Seifer muttered in a clear note of disapproval. Finally quitting his incessant staring at Leonhart's face, his eyes fell below a pale neckline for the first time. He saw the name branded above the fighter's breast. He sent the kid a scathing look, but held his tongue. The boy could have just as well urinated on Leonhart and achieved the same effect.

Bristling indignantly, Squall felt as though he couldn't so much as breathe without offending someone. First his son, and now Seifer. What did anyone else care what he wore?

"What's wrong with it?" Lore defended. As though all his fears had been confirmed, he took Seifer's protest to heart. The man just wanted to use his father. It was a game, some twisted extension of the childhood rivalry the two shared. His father was too inexperienced when it came to relationships to see beneath the flashy blond's charming exterior. He refused to stand idly by while some self-centered swordsman toyed with his father's affections.

"Unless that sweatshirt is flame retardant, it's not safe," Seifer pointed out. The nature of his disapproval had nothing to do with safety. His true qualm rested in his inability to see the former commander's lithe frame, not to mention the fact that it wasn't his name on the shirt.

Fujin plucked her husband's shirtsleeve and made a nodding gesture towards the kitchen.

Raijin cleared his throat. "Not to get pushy on you, but Fu and I were hoping to be home by dinner. I'd like to get as much stuff made as we can."

Squall nodded yet again. He didn't expect Raijin to gain anything from him other than confidence. Most people could cook and bake simply by using common sense. Seifer had mentioned over the phone that Raijin had a lack of confidence rather than lack of skill. He empathized with the father-to-be. He had fretted through his share of ineptitudes and frantically worked to improve himself for the sake of his child.

"The kitchen's through here," Raijin added, pointing to the open doorway that led off the living room.

Raijin followed Fujin into the other room. Squall cast Seifer a questioning glance. It was ten o'clock, and jumping right in seemed the best way to go about things.

"Go ahead," Seifer encouraged, pointedly hanging back. "Raijin knows where everything is. Use whatever you need. Just don't let him use the electric mixer."

Nodding in response, Squall lingered for a moment. He looked to his son, but found the boy staring intently at the ground. Shifting his focus back to Seifer, he silently beseeched the man not to antagonize Lore.

Sullen with his inability to pick a fight, Seifer settled on ruffling the kid's feathers a bit. Reaching out, he cupped the back of Leonhart's neck and drew the man a step closer. Leaning down, he pressed his lips to a warm temple. The kiss was chaste, yet intimate. "I'll play nice," he whispered.

Squall grasped the wrist of the hand at the back of his neck. He held on, lingering longer than he should have. At length, he moved away.

As the brunet left, Seifer felt the ghosting touch of fingertips run over the back of his hand, and then suddenly they weren't touching anymore. When Leonhart vanished around the doorway, he wanted to rush into the kitchen to make sure the man was still there.

Lore watched the exchange with a perplexed expression. He had missed something. An entire conversation had gone on between the two and he hadn't heard a word of it. There was a strong connection between the two childhood rivals, and he didn't like it one bit. The caustic ex-knight might exploit that link, if he hadn't already.

"What exactly are your intentions for my dad?" Lore asked.

Seifer tore his gaze away from the vacant doorway. "You're a little young for that conversation," he jibed. His intentions were too numerous to count. Most of them involved different positions to have sex, some were hopeless intentions of bondage play, and others were tamer intentions of watching Leonhart sleep in his arms. None of these were what the teen wanted to hear.

Crossing his arms, Lore challenged, "Do you know what will happen if you hurt him?"

"Is that a threat?" Seifer scoffed. The boy was as ballsy as ever, which he would have admired under different circumstances.

Brows furrowed angrily, Lore tried to impress the fact that there were serious consequences involved. "I'm not the only one who will come after you when you hurt him." He was aware that he didn't have much of a platform to stand on. In a fight, he could never beat someone as experienced as Seifer, but he would find some way of reaping vengeance if it became necessary.

"_When_ I hurt him?" Seifer questioned, appearing surprised. "I don't _plan_ on hurting him. It seems you've already made up your mind about that."

Faltering for a moment, Lore amended his thinking. Part of him wanted to assume the worst, and did, but he knew it was wrong to jump to conclusions. "Are you playing a game? Do you get off on toying with him?" he asked, his line of questions only slightly less accusatory.

Seifer scoffed. "Define toying," he quipped. He certainly 'got off' with Leonhart, but only in the best of ways.

Huffing in exasperation, Lore clipped, "Are you ever serious?"

With a grin that suggested otherwise, Seifer answered, "I'm always serious."

"Really?" Lore intoned dubiously.

Eager to watch Leonhart bake, Seifer leveled with the kid. "I can't tell you what I want from your dad. Even I don't know that yet."

"But are you messing with him?" Lore pressed.

"It's not a game to me," Seifer declared. He stared intently into the boy's eyes, willing the teen to understand how difficult it was to define anything at such an early stage. He hardly knew more about what he felt than an outsider could guess at.

Lore felt the heat rise to his face. He believed that Seifer was being honest. The man's eyes were too clear to have secrets. With stubborn resistance, he questioned, "How can I trust you?"

Seifer gave a succinct answer. "You can't."

Lore straightened, eyeing the ex-knight closely. Lips pressed in a tight line, he had nothing more to say. He would end up talking in circles. They had already had the same argument several times before. He had the creeping suspicion that only time could give him answers.

"We've been on one date," Seifer reminded. "Your dad's heart isn't any more invested in this relationship than mine."

"You don't know that," Lore refuted.

Seifer ran a frustrated hand through his hair, disarranging several silky strands. The kid had touched on a sore spot. "Your dad is even more cautious than you," he explained grudgingly. "He doesn't trust me like you think." At the sight of bewilderment in blue-green eyes, he grumbled a discontented note. "Does that settle things for you?" The taste of his own biting remarks was bitter as he swallowed them. This kid was his ticket to Leonhart, which meant he couldn't deal with him in the same manner he had dealt with Kinneas. His reply to the gunman's interrogation had involved several bone shattering punches.

"Not really," Lore mumbled uncertainly. He knew his father was a smart person, but not when it came to dating. He had thought the former commander was blindly falling head over heals. He didn't know how to take Seifer's claim to the contrary.

--

Lore sat on the edge of his seat, gazing from one face to the next as everyone laughed. Even his father's frame shook with restrained laughter.

Tears in his eyes, Raijin tried to continue telling the story. "And then, your dad shows up," he said to Lore. "He just looked at us like everything was perfectly normal. And then he says…" Doubling over, he held up a hand to signal that he would finish once he stopped laughing.

Seifer jumped in. "He said, 'The smoke detector didn't go off.'" Hand slapping the table, rich laughter poured from him.

Though Lore was less amused by the story than everyone else, he found it fascinating. "How old were you?" he asked.

Squall set the timer on the oven and turned around. Leaning against the counter, he regarded his son across the room. "Fifteen," he said. As a smile crept to his face, he raised a hand to hide it. He didn't condone delinquent behavior, and didn't want his son hearing too much about his past. He had never been as mischievous as Seifer, but he had done his fair share of troublemaking around the orphanage and at Balamb Garden.

"No, you were younger," Seifer refuted. "I was fifteen. You had to have been fourteen."

Squall shrugged.

"You're older than Dad?" Lore asked, turning his attention to the man seated across from him.

Seifer nodded. "There's eight months between us." He wasn't exactly sure how much time there was between them now. He had lost seven years, but not in physical terms. He was a man in his thirties who hadn't been around to experience his twenties.

"That was your first week at Balamb Garden, wasn't it?" Raijin asked Leonhart.

Squall lowered his hand, his smile effectively hidden. The sleeves of the sweatshirt he wore were cuffed up to his elbow. His movement dislodged one of the folds, and one cuffed sleeve rode lower than the other. "Yes," he answered evenly. Feigning disinterest in the conversation, he adjusted the longer sleeve to ride higher.

"We hightailed it out of there, but Leonhart just couldn't leave the scene of a crime."

"What'd they give you for it?" Seifer queried, casting the enticing brunet a smarmy grin. He suddenly longed to be a teenager again, and head of the disciplinary committee. He imagined giving Leonhart detention, bending the stripling fighter's lithe body over a desk and having his way with his rival. He was soon drawn from his perverted musings by the sound of Leonhart's matured voice. He preferred the older version to the young one, but a healthy imagination never hurt anyone.

Reading off a grocery list of punishments, Squall kept a somewhat accusatory glare trained on Seifer. "A week of detention for the wasted food. Two weeks of washing dishes for the stained walls and ceiling. And three weeks of cleaning the bathrooms for the broken oven and the windows." Arms folded across his chest, he appeared reluctant to speak further on the topic of his punishments.

Seifer grimaced. He supposed the story of the exploding birthday cake wasn't as fond a memory for Leonhart as it was for him. "Damn, Cid was strict back then," he commented.

Squall scowled. "He was hard on me because he knew I wasn't the one who had done anything wrong."

Raijin piped in, "Other than show up at the worst possible moment."

Seifer commended his former rival. "But you didn't give us up, Squally-boy. That's all that matters."

Squall responded with an icy glare.

"You were a good sport," Fujin interjected, breaking the silence she had kept since the former commander's arrival.

Squall's expression softened when he gazed at Fujin. "I was tolerant," he said. If nothing else, Seifer had taught him to have an abundance of tolerance.

"You were like the most tolerant person in the world," Raijin said. "Only one person ever got to you, ya know?"

"I'm gifted that way," Seifer said, chest puffed with pride.

"Gifted at pissing people off?" Raijin inquired.

"It's a talent of sorts," Seifer defended.

Raijin sniffed the air near the stovetop. "Hey man," he began with an excited look at Leonhart, "that's smellin' pretty good, ya know?"

Squall gave the broad framed man a wry look, as if to say it couldn't turn out bad under his watch.

"It could still taste like shit," Seifer assured.

Raijin straightened. He met his blond buddy with a challenging look. "I don't see you making anything."

"I know how to cook," Seifer declared matter-of-factly. "Real men aren't afraid of touching raw meat."

Raijin's face twisted to an expression of disgust. "It's so nasty, all slimy and stuff. It's like, I can't eat something that was alive when I see it like that."

Fujin shook her head in exasperation.

"Wait until you change your first diaper," Seifer said. "I bet raw meat will look pretty good after that."

The look of sheer dread in Raijin's eyes was too much, even for Squall who turned around while shaking with suppressed laughter.

Lore's amusement subsided, giving way to astonishment. He watched his father across the room, practically unable to keep from laughing aloud. Such an occurrence was beyond rare. His father didn't laugh often, especially in the company of others.

"How much do you know about your dad?" Seifer questioned, studying the boy's look of surprise.

"Everything," Lore stated. There was a hint of challenge in the ex-knight's words. The arrogant blond might have experienced his father's past, but he had the former commander's last sixteen years, the present and entire future.

"About when he was your age," Seifer said, probing the teen for a reaction.

Lore faltered. Glancing across the kitchen, he found his father staring at Seifer warily. "Why?" he returned in a cautious tone.

Seifer took a sip of his coffee and then leaned back in his seat, appearing relaxed despite the tensing atmosphere. He caught Leonhart's eye for a moment, but ignored the silent plea. "I've got stories," he said. "Things he probably wouldn't have told you."

"Seifer," Squall warned.

"Stories like what?" Lore inquired. He was interested, but didn't know what to make of his father's apparent aversion.

"Some like the one you just heard. Others involving more danger."

"Danger?" Lore looked at his father with worry.

Scowling, Squall chastised, "Seifer, stop it." There was a lot Lore didn't know or fully understand about his past. Seifer knew everything, all the dangers he had faced both in and out of class.

Lore quickly realized that his father didn't want Seifer telling him anything. Determined to know more, he turned to Seifer and prompted, "What danger?"

The kitchen went silent. Seifer didn't answer the raven-haired youth until he concluded that Leonhart would forgive him sooner or later. "Your dad was a real daredevil back in the day," he said. Eyes trained on the daredevil he spoke of, he found icy daggers sailing his way. The fatherly brunet did not like the subject he had brought up, but the son gazed at him with avid interest. He couldn't deny such an eager audience.

"What did he do?" Lore needed to know everything Seifer knew. Even if he managed to goad his father into telling him, he was sure to receive the watered down version involving only minor scrapes and bruises.

"Hey man," Raijin cut in, "to be fair, most of the things that happened were Seifer's ideas." He gave the ex-knight an exasperated look and commented, "You could never leave Leonhart out of anything, could you?"

"And keep all the fun to myself?" Seifer remarked. With a mischievous grin, he turned to the teen and whispered, "Your dad was a troublemaker."

"He was not," Lore protested.

Across the room, Squall bowed his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. He couldn't believe how childish Seifer was acting. Though, he didn't fail to notice how engaged his son had become.

Seifer lectured, "You think he's a war hero, but no one is born a hero."

"Stop playing the devil's advocate," Squall muttered. He didn't want Seifer filling his son's head with nonsense.

Seifer's grin broadened. Ignoring Leonhart's warning, he commented, "It would seem your dad doesn't want you to know the truth."

"Is he lying?" Lore asked his father.

After a moment's hesitation, Squall answered, "Yes." He had never hidden his past from his son, but the details of his forays with death had always remained vague.

"Now who's lying?" Seifer returned.

Raijin clarified the situation. "The truth is that Leonhart got in a lot of trouble, but he never went looking for it. Seifer liked to bring it to him."

"You got my dad in trouble?" Lore asked, prepared to turn on the ex-knight at a moment's notice.

"And out of it, most of the time," Seifer defended.

Lore gnawed on his lower lip, a habit he inherited from his father. Interest piqued, he was eager to hear everything Seifer could tell him about the person his father was before being a commander. "Give me an example," he requested. He tried to appear indifferent. His willingness to listen was not an expression of acceptance, merely curiosity.

Seifer eyed the boy with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. Smirking, he gazed at Leonhart for several long moments. "I'll tell you about why Balamb Garden stopped keeping cars stocked with full tanks."

--

Squall was surprised to find Raijin waiting for him outside Seifer's bathroom.

"Hey," Raijin mumbled. Since Leonhart's arrival, his determination had wavered back and forth. He needed to have a word with the reticent fighter before leaving town. There had been little opportunity for a private chat, and he jumped at the chance now that he had Leonhart alone.

Surprise turned to confusion for Squall when Raijin cast a cautious glance across the empty living room. Everyone else was still in the kitchen.

"This thing between you and Seifer," Raijin said, growing more sheepish each passing moment. He didn't know how to phrase his concerns. He wasn't good with words, and found less to say the harder he tried.

Although Squall detected Raijin's plight, he was not inclined to help the man out. He couldn't gauge Raijin's feelings on the matter, and had no clue what was about to come next.

"This is kinda awkward, ya know?"

Squall nodded. It was indeed awkward. If Raijin hadn't mentioned his relationship with Seifer, he would have assumed the man didn't know about it at all. Now, he knew that Seifer had informed both Raijin and Fujin. It wasn't exactly a secret, but he didn't like his personal life made public. The less people that knew, the better.

"You're sleeping together," Raijin said, choking on the last syllable.

"Is that a question?" Squall asked. He began to wonder how much Raijin knew? Had Seifer related intimate details? He felt a tinge of mortification in his cheeks, which he suppressed by reasoning that Seifer wasn't the type of person to kiss and tell.

"No," Raijin said. Meeting the former commander's steady gaze, he became tongue-tied. He was thoroughly mortified, but his concern for Seifer kept him going. "I know you're dating," he stated, sounding more confident. "I'm worried about him, ya know?"

Confused, Squall simply quirked a brow.

"It's like this," Raijin started, "Seifer doesn't chase after girls. He always lets them come to him."

A dark emotion stirred inside Squall's chest. His expression grew stern. He reflected on the opening ceremony, when Seifer had showcased an ex-girlfriend to rile him up. He had been jealous that night. Despite his aversion to such a petty feeling, he could not quiet the jealousy he felt once again.

Raijin's mouth fell open for a moment. He shrunk back from the agitated look in Leonhart's eyes. He had never been able to read the former commander well, but he swore he saw a flicker of jealousy at the mention of Seifer's previous relationships.

Squall's jealousy quickly turned to anxious discomfort. According to Raijin, Seifer had a set pattern for dating. Was he just another sequence in that pattern?

"With you, he's different," Raijin went on to explain. "He's chasing you. It's not like him, ya know?"

Eyes widening, Squall stared with evident surprise. When he realized his own anxieties, he blushed. In the span of a minute, he had gone from being level headed to being consumed with jealousy and insecurity. The strong hold he always kept on his emotions had loosened since he had been in Seifer's company.

"What I'm trying to get at is…" Raijin paused to take a deep breath. "He's obviously getting serious this time. It makes no sense to me why you two would hook up."

Squall sighed softly. He wondered if his feelings for Seifer would ever be normal. Would their relationship always remain peculiar and ill matched? "I'm aware that it is a strange turn of events."

"'Strange' is putting it lightly," Raijin said. "It's not any of my business, but what kind of posse would we be if we didn't look out for each other? I don't have anything against you or nothing, but I don't want you hurting Seifer, ya know?"

"Hurt Seifer?" Squall repeated. The words were numb on his tongue. Raijin's implication hadn't sunk in completely.

"Yeah," Raijin affirmed. "He was never gay before, ya know? So it seems like something ain't right. And then there's the fact that he's going to all sorts of trouble for you. He's getting serious real quick, ya know?"

"…" Squall was at a complete loss for words, which was far less common than most people thought.

Raijin scratched the back of his spiky raven hair. Even when he dropped his eyes to the floor, Leonhart's shorter frame was in his line of sight. "You won't hurt him or nothing, will ya?"

When Squall had finished processing Raijin's question, he faltered in giving an answer. He was blindsided by the man's expressed concern. The notion that he was a threat to Seifer hadn't occurred to him. He had been too wrapped up in his own little world to consider the possibility that Seifer might be just as invested and lost as himself.

Realizing that Seifer was in the same boat as him, Squall quickly came to a conclusion. "No," he said. By nature, he avoided making guarantees on the future, yet he sensed an undiscovered resolve inside himself. He would not hurt Seifer, not intentionally.

"Right," Raijin muttered. Leonhart had given a clear answer. His concerns lingered, but it wasn't Leonhart's job to set his mind at ease. He had more questions and some accusations in his head, but knew he wouldn't be able to voice them. The bizarre relationship between Seifer and Leonhart was different from what he had imagined. Seeing them together in the kitchen made him lose some of his anger and disapproval.

Raijin also found that he couldn't speak very well around the former commander. He had planned on approaching Leonhart in a more confrontational manner, but his legs buckled whenever icy blue eyes pinned him in place. Stepping back, he retreated. "Well, that's all I wanted to hear. I wanted to ask in person, ya know?"

With a bare nod, Squall stood rooted while Raijin hastened back to the kitchen.

--

Leaving Seifer's apartment, Squall forced himself not to glance over his shoulder. With Lore at his side, they were out the door at one o'clock. There was no kiss goodbye, not even a quick peck on the lips. He could feel jade-green eyes following him, heating his backside as he progressed farther down the hall towards the lift.

If he turned around, he would find the ex-knight's longing gaze. He would be unable to keep from rushing back to embrace Seifer.

By the time he was on the first floor, making his way to the main entrance, he breathed a sigh of relief.

"What's wrong?" Lore questioned.

Squall just shook his head. How could he possibly explain his unreasonable desire to be near Seifer? He couldn't even explain it to himself.

Just as the air outside began to clear Squall's dazed mind, he felt the whirring vibration of a phone in the front pocket of his son's sweatshirt. Stopping mid-stride, he cast a dubious look at the pocket.

Lore frowned, saying, "You never bring your cell."

"I didn't," Squall assured. He was notorious for forgetting his cell phone, and had given up trying to remember. He usually stored it in his car.

As the phone continued to vibrate, Squall had the creeping suspicion that Seifer had played little a joke. Reaching inside his pocket, he extracted a small silver phone. The model was foreign to him, confirming that it was not his phone. Studying the device for a moment, he slid the top screen up. A small beep informed him that he had just answered the call. Raising the phone to his ear, he waited.

A familiar voice sounded over the line. "When can I see you again?" The question carried a demanding undertone.

"Tomorrow," Squall replied without a second thought. Not giving his caller time to respond, he hung up and stored the phone back in his pocket. He couldn't keep from smiling. He fought the urge to turn and gaze up at the apartment building. He could feel the intense gaze of an onlooker from above. Seifer could see him. Feigning indifference to the matter, he walked to his car parked on the side of the street.

"Who was that?" Lore asked, hastening to catch up.

Smile faltering, Squall said, "It was Seifer."

"Then the phone is…"

Nodding, Squall confirmed that it was Seifer's cell phone, or at least one of the man's phones.

"How did it get in your pocket?" was Lore's obvious question.

With a scowl, Squall slipped inside the car, seated behind the wheel. His defenses had been penetrated. "Slight of hand," he answered, casting a quick glance to the side as Lore settled into the passenger seat. Though a part of him was chagrinned to not have noticed the pick pocketing, his predominant emotion was amusement. Only Seifer would have pulled such a stunt, and for no other reason than to appear cute while flaunting his skill.

As he turned the ignition on, Squall smiled again. He would see Seifer again tomorrow.

Lore waited several minutes before asking, "What's tomorrow?"

Glancing askance, Squall briefly studied his son's expression. The boy appeared anxious. He could judge by Lore's tone of voice that the teen was trying to keep a respectful distance from his private affairs, while simultaneously battling a lifelong habit of knowing everything that went on in his life. "Seifer wants to get together tomorrow," he said.

"Tomorrow?" Lore intoned skeptically. "That's three days in a row."

"I see you everyday," Squall pointed out. "Spending time together is the point."

Lore wanted to protest, but fresh memories of his time with Seifer that day silenced him. Seifer hadn't acted like a complete bastard. In fact, he had enjoyed hearing the ex-knight's stories about his father. The time had gone by fast, and he wished they had stayed longer. When Raijin and Fujin ended the baking session in order to catch a train home, he had regretted not being able to hear more from everyone.

"Was it all true?" Lore asked, forgetting that there was another matter at hand.

It was a moment before Squall knew what his son meant. Eyes on the road, he drove while reflecting on the various tales Seifer had related. "Seifer embellished a lot."

Lore laughed. "Seriously?" he remarked. "I can't believe you got into so much trouble. I wish I had known when I was younger. You were a million times worse than I was."

A ghost of a smile flitted across Squall's face. "That doesn't condone bad behavior," he said.

Lore rolled his eyes. "You didn't want him to tell me, did you?"

"I would have preferred him not to put ideas into your head."

For several minutes the two sat in comfortable silence, both accustom to the quiet.

When Lore could no longer bear to keep his thoughts to himself, he turned to his father and said, "He's kind of okay." His mind was filled with what Seifer had told him. He added, "That doesn't mean I like him though."

Squall felt overwhelming relief. His son was stubborn beyond all reason at times, which was something that ran in the family on both sides. Despite Seifer's charm, he had doubted the ex-knight's ability to sway his teenage son. It appeared that Lore's stubbornness was no match for Seifer's seductive personality. The businessman was generally caustic and annoying, but there was a charm in such behavior that drew people in.

"He's okay," Squall echoed.

Lore made a sound of agreement before turning his attention back out his window.

TBC…

Author's Note:

This chapter was twice as long, but I split it into two. I'm hoping to update with the next chapter soon, since it's mostly written already. I can't stress enough how awesome the reviews have been. Thank you all for the support.

Please, don't worry about never having another update. I will _not_ abandon this story. Even though my updating abilities are beyond slow, there will be eventual updates. I'm overloaded on credits this semester, and the chapter I had compiled over the summer was put on the backburner. I'm sorry it took me so long.

It was such a long wait for this chapter, and I'm sure many of you were looking forward to a little more intimacy. The naughty parts were in the second half that I lopped off in order to update faster. They will be in the next update. I can only promise that chapter 41 will be posted sometime before Christmas.


	41. Chapter 41

Warning: sexual content ahead, minors stop here.

Defining Love

Chapter Forty-One

Sunday evening Squall found himself at Seifer's apartment once again. Dinner and a movie had sounded simple enough over the phone, but nothing was ever quite as simple as it seemed between them. What started with the best of intentions might end in bloodshed.

As Squall sat in the ex-knight's pristine kitchen, he brooded over their date last Friday. If he could determine what had set the man off during their last dinner, he might try to avoid such a caustic turn of events this time.

Squall knew that Seifer wanted his trust. Could it be so simple? He doubted it, again concluding that nothing was ever simple. As grey-blue eyes stared off in lost reverie, distantly registering the blond's movement on the other side of the room, he considered the possibility that Seifer valued trust more than most people. Perhaps he was the one who didn't value it enough. Had Seifer been right to become angry with him? Had he blithely dismissed something that the businessman held in high esteem?

"What are you thinking?" Seifer asked, disconcerted by the distant look in his rival's eyes. He didn't like it when Leonhart's thoughts strayed where he couldn't follow.

Thoughts returning to the present, Squall's eyes focused. "Hm?" he intoned curiously.

Seifer rolled his eyes. "What's going on in that pretty little head of yours?"

Squall scowled. "Nothing," he mumbled. He didn't appreciate the blond's casual references that described him as pretty, or any such condescending adjectives.

Striding across the black and white tiled floor, Seifer quickly closed the distance between them. Towering over the brunet's seated form, he reminded, "You're here with me."

Bowed lips pressed tightly together, Squall stared up in defiance. When Seifer raised a hand to his face, his eyes darted a cautious look to unclenched fingers, as though expecting the man to strike him. It was a mindless lapse, his thoughts too scattered to remember how different his relationship with Seifer had become. Warm fingertips brushed along his cheek, and he immediately felt guilty for his instinctive reaction. The fighter in him would never forget that the man who currently stroked his cheek was the same man he had once considered an enemy.

Seifer had caught Leonhart's subtle reaction. He tried to reason away the dull throb in his chest. He knew it was the former commander's instinct, merely a cautious response that good fighters never lost. Nevertheless, they had spent enough time familiarizing their bodies with each other's touch that he had thought such need for caution lost.

"You're not afraid of me," Seifer said, his tone almost questioning.

Squall grasped the blond's wrist and nudged his cheek against the caressing hand until he felt the press of a warm palm. He wasn't afraid, and would have resented the implication if he didn't see what he thought to be pain lurking in green irises.

"You were once," Seifer hedged. He remembered Leonhart's heartbreaking reaction to him after he'd forced himself on the man. There had been fear written all over the swordsman's features that day. That vulnerable and hurt expression was burned into his memory. "When I hurt you," he elaborated, waiting for stormy blue eyes to widen in remembrance.

Brows knit with worry, Squall tightened his hold on Seifer's wrist. "That was shock," he corrected. Though he had felt fear that day, it had been his body's reaction. His mind had been too shocked to acknowledge the situation properly.

"What were you thinking about before?" Seifer redirected, hoping to catch the brunet off guard.

"Trust," Squall murmured before he could catch himself. He sent the ex-knight a withering glare for the underhanded tactic.

Seifer smirked in victory, but the expression promptly fell. Kneeling down, he dropped his hand from Leonhart's face and set his grip on the man's knees.

Squall let the ex-knight turn him in his seat, swiveling him around like a turntable. Facing earnest green eyes, he read each emotion that passed through those vibrant orbs.

"It's important to me," Seifer stated. "I want your trust." He felt like a fool for having treated matters like a game. Over the years, his ego had prompted him to make many bold and sometimes foolish moves, but none so outrageously bold or foolish as when he had decided to seduce Leonhart simply to prove he could. His credibility had been shot, and his request for a serious relationship must have seemed like a ploy to further seduce the man.

When Seifer had first broached the subject of trust, he had been denied. He had assumed that Leonhart had brushed him off without seriously considering the matter. Last Friday, he had realized that Leonhart truly didn't trust him, and it hurt more than he had expected. His affection for the dour swordsman was genuine. He needed Leonhart to understand and trust that he was serious.

"I know," Squall murmured. He had been too hasty to dismiss the man last time. Taking a deep breath, he explained, "It's not _you _that I don't trust. It's what we have." He didn't know how else to explain his doubts.

A jolt of delight fluttered in the pit of Seifer's stomach. Leonhart's words were impossibly good news. He hid his elation, but couldn't keep from grinning. "Does that mean you trust me?" he pressed, wanting to hear the exact phrase come from the brunet's enticing mouth.

Squall frowned. "I trust that you won't intentionally hurt me," he conceded. He was reminded of his promise to Raijin the other day. He had promised not to hurt Seifer, at least not intentionally. He couldn't foresee where their relationship was going, but he could make a conscious effort not to hurt anyone involved. He had already hurt Cale, and felt sick at the thought of repeating that cruelty. He trusted that Seifer would return the favor.

Neither of them could trust the strange attraction they felt, which was something they could both agree on. It had come upon them so suddenly and with such force, that it was a miracle they were both still standing. Their whirlwind romance was as frightening as it was captivating. What if they woke up in the morning and the attraction was gone? Or worse, what if it was only gone for one of them? What if the attraction grew? Squall couldn't imagine feeling more lust than he already felt, and feared that more might be poisonous. There was simply no trusting what was between them.

Seifer seemed to follow his thoughts, and gave a grave nod as his insecurities trailed off in a never-ending stream of questions. "I should have explained better before," he said evenly, his apology buried somewhere in his words.

"Explaining things has never been a talent of yours," Seifer admonished with a wink. He felt too relieved to care that Leonhart had misled him by making him believe he was the one who couldn't be trusted.

Squall didn't consider the matter settled, but he allowed the ex-knight to draw him into a kiss anyway. Eager lips pressed firmly against his, coaxing him to consent to something he couldn't imagine rejecting. A slick tongue slipped inside his mouth, stealing his breath away. Before he could completely succumb to the pleasures of Seifer's invasion, a charred scent caught his attention.

Still hungry, Seifer grumbled a note of complaint when Leonhart broke away.

Squall pressed the back of his hand to his lips and made a nodding gesture towards the other end of the kitchen.

Seifer finally took notice of the smell, sniffing the air before his eyes widened. Bolting from his place at Leonhart's side, he rushed to the stove and removed the saucepan. He waved a hand, fanning billows of smoke that rose from the burnt sauce. "Shit," he cursed.

Hand remaining at his mouth, Squall hid his smile.

Jade-green eyes narrowed at the sight of Leonhart's face alight with amusement. He couldn't possibly be angry when his blunder resulted in such a rare reaction. Of the few emotions Leonhart accidentally expressed, amusement was never one of them. It was always a scowl of disapproval, a fleeting expression of shock, or his favorite glare of death. "Well at least you're amused," he muttered in complaint, secretly rejoicing.

Squall sobered, his smile effectively hidden. "Do you need help?" he offered, his smile threatening to break through again.

"Fuck that," Seifer rejected. "I'm a damn fine chef."

Squall inclined his head and cast a skeptical look to the saucepan. Seifer had cooked for him before, but he hadn't had the appetite to eat then and didn't know if it had been any good.

Rummaging around in the fridge, Seifer started all over again with the cream sauce. "Just keep your skinny ass over there and watch a master at work."

It didn't take long for Squall to realize that Seifer's skill in battle didn't translate into the kitchen. He watched out of the corner of his eye, almost feeling pity. He would have stood to offer a hand, but the view from the table was too nice to give up. His eyes shamelessly strayed to the blond's sculpted buttocks, not exactly visible in casual denim pants, but Seifer's tall frame made it necessary to lean over frequently. He was embarrassed to acknowledge the fact, but he lusted after his rival's body, finding each line devastatingly sexy.

When Squall's thoughts began to form daydreams, he blushed. He was becoming as big a pervert as Irvine.

Seifer managed to set the skillet on an unheated burner without dropping it, though he voiced several colorful curses and nursed a burnt finger.

Squall quirked an amused eyebrow. "Are you always this graceful?" he queried sarcastically. Despite the man's claims to the counter, he couldn't tell whether Seifer knew what he was doing or not.

"Laugh it up," Seifer muttered. After running his finger under the tap, he dried it on a dishtowel. He returned to the stovetop to stir the contents of another pan. "It's you that's making this difficult."

"Me?" Squall intoned, as if to say he were all the way on the other side of the room and couldn't possibly pose any obstruction.

"How am I supposed to sauté mushrooms when all I want to do is bend you over the counter?" When Leonhart made no reply Seifer looked over his shoulder. The reserved ice prince was blushing. He groaned, narrowly suppressing his desires. "Go in the other room before I attack you," he directed.

Squall didn't know whether Seifer was serious or not, but when the man cursed once more after receiving yet another burn, he decided to wait in the living room.

--

Seated together on the couch, Seifer slouched back with his arm draped over Leonhart's shoulder. The smaller fighter leaned in against him, making it impossible to concentrate on the movie. The sweet scent of his rival's hair and warm press of that luscious body kept his mind battling the onset of an erection. It wasn't long before he was given an amusing show as a distraction.

Squall felt drowsy. Only on his second glass of wine, he felt the warm effects as though he had drunken on an empty stomach. Dinner had been surprisingly good, suiting him enough to warrant more than the few measly bites he took at most meals. He was pleasantly full, something that should have counteracted the wine. He never held his alcohol well, but it usually didn't affect him quite so much. Now, he was ready to fall asleep against the blond's shoulder.

The room was dim and the volume on the TV was low enough not to bother Squall as he felt his eyes become heavier. He considered briefly that Seifer's presence put him at ease, and he fell asleep quite easily when the man was nearby.

Seifer could barely contain his laughter at the sight of his rival nodding off. He feigned ignorance, spying out of the corner of his eye. The brunet nodded forward a couple times, waking abruptly each time. When it happened a third time, he couldn't contain himself any longer.

Seifer laughed out loud, startling Squall awake. Blushing from ear to ear, Squall sent the ex-knight a reproachful glare.

Seifer held his hand up in a staying gesture. "Hyne, don't be mad."

The color in Squall's face darkened. His glare became icy. On the verge of making excuses about the wine and warm room, he held his tongue and reminded himself that he didn't need to excuse himself to anyone.

Tightening his hold, Seifer pulled the blushing beauty closer. Leaning in, he kissed full lips hard. "I like it," he assured, never breaking from Leonhart's mouth. "You can be cute sometimes."

"Cute?" Squall hissed, not liking the adjective when applied to him. He needed to make a list of adjectives that Seifer was forbidden to use around him.

"Yes," Seifer confirmed. "Cute." He slipped his tongue inside his rival's mouth. Leaning forward, he lowered the smaller fighter to lie back on the couch. He crowded atop the man, his tongue never stopping its wet exploration.

Pushing at the ex-knight's chest, Squall ended their kiss. "The movie," he reminded. He was still agitated and resented having his weakness exploited. Every argument couldn't be resolved with sex.

"What movie?"

Brows raised in expectation, Squall waited until it clicked for the blond.

"Right, the movie," Seifer commented with a wry glance at the television. "You didn't seem that interested."

For a long moment, Squall stared into the frisky businessman's eyes. He searched vibrant green irises for a flicker of understanding. "It can't all be about sex," he murmured. It wasn't all about sex, and he knew this. There were times when it was also about sparring, but that didn't make what they had a real relationship. He couldn't possibly consider Seifer as his boyfriend if all they did was fight on the field and screw in bed. What sort of example did that set for Lore? He had no idea what common interests they might share, or if they were compatible enough to sustain a relationship, but that's what they were trying to find out. Sex couldn't be a fall back plan for everything, even if the temptation were tantamount.

When Seifer processed Leonhart's meaning, his desires turned cold. Disengaging, he backed away from the slender figure. It was relatively easy for him to rein his desires in when the heat had fled. "Is that what you think?" he muttered. Sitting back, he crossed his arms and stared intently at the television. He didn't invite just anyone into his home and cook them dinner. If it were just sex, a hotel would have been more than enough.

Squall studied his rival's stern profile. Shifting, he sat up from his reclining position and dared to sidle closer. "What's wrong?" he queried, not understanding why the man seemed angry.

"Nothing," Seifer returned. "Let's watch the movie."

Scowling, Squall continued to study the man. He stubbornly refused to let the matter go. The minutes began adding up. Green eyes eventually flickered his way, but were too guarded to reveal anything. When handsome features softened slightly, he opened his mouth to reiterate his question. Before he could utter a sound, a strong arm snaked around his waist and hauled him close.

"I'll behave, so watch the damn movie," Seifer said through clenched teeth. His arm tightened around Leonhart's waist, pressing the smaller man's body to his side.

Squall squirmed in discomfort. When he realized he wouldn't be let free without a serious effort, he gave up. Rolling his eyes, he muttered a sullen, "Whatever."

--

The movie had long since run its course, and continued to replay the thirty-second menu sequence over and over. The sound was muted and the faint glow from the TV was lulling.

Seifer leaned back against the couch, awkwardly propped against the armrest. He had fallen asleep, his arm still firmly wrapped around Leonhart's waist. The brunet slept soundly against his chest.

It was the painful crick in his neck that had woken him. He lifted his head from the back of the couch, gingerly turning it to work stiff muscles. His arm had gone numb. A quick glance down at his rival told him that he probably wasn't the only one experiencing discomfort.

"Leonhart," Seifer murmured, gently jostling the sleeping beauty. The adorable creature stirred, only to nestle deeper into hold. Jaw clenched, he fought the desire to attack the oblivious man.

Seifer shifted forward and deftly maneuvered his extraction. He doubted that Leonhart would remain asleep for much longer, but he wanted to have his fun anyway. Deciding not to wake the fighter, he slipped his arms beneath the curled form and lifted the light weight from the couch.

The movement did wake Leonhart, but Seifer didn't relent his hold. He looked down into the dim glint of stormy blue eyes. Not saying anything, he hefted his load closer and walked off towards his bedroom.

Squall protested every step the ex-knight took, but he didn't voice any of his opposition. He was too tired to start an argument, and it seemed like a small compromise to let himself be carried the short distance to the bedroom.

"You didn't raise hell," Seifer commented as he gently set the brunet on his bed.

Squall searched green eyes. "I didn't see the need to," he answered. Turning away, he crawled to the head of the bed and pulled the comforter down.

Seifer swallowed thickly, beating his desires down with a stick. Aside from the tantalizing view of Leonhart's ass, he was keen on the sight of the man settling in for the night. Leonhart was comfortable in his presence and apartment, and had apparently decided to spend the night. He was thrilled.

A surprised cry of protest sounded from Squall when the ex-knight grabbed his ankle and yanked him back. Flattened against the bed, he started to push up, but strong hands grabbed his hips and flipped him around. Before he could berate the impulsive brute, a heavy body pressed him into the mattress and warm lips crushed his own.

"Can it be about sex now?" Seifer spared time for the question, drawing back to assess the situation. Leonhart's reactions were never predictable, though they tended towards the volatile end of the spectrum. His advances might be met with acceptance, just like when he'd carried the man to the bed, or his attempt at foreplay might earn him a black eye.

Squall hesitated, a stream of protests running through his head. Silencing his thoughts, he gave a faint nod. He grabbed the back of Seifer's neck and pulled the man back down, seeking his rival's lips with fervor.

Seifer kissed Leonhart, grinning all the while. There would be no black eyes that night.

--

The following morning came all too soon. Lying prone and naked, Seifer's outstretched arm searched for his partner. His fingers grasped cold bed sheets. He opened bleary eyes, confirming that he was alone. A disappointed sight escaped him. His mate had run off. It seemed impossible that Leonhart had pulled off an escape when he made a point of reaffirming his hold every time he drifted awake.

Rolling onto his back, he sat up and ran a hand through bed-rumpled hair. "Leonhart," he called out, vainly hoping the man was within earshot. No answer came.

"Fuck," he cursed, casting aside the sheets. A quick glance at the radio clock on the nightstand informed him that it was seven o'clock.

As he slipped into a pair of sweatpants, not bothering with a shirt, his ears pricked at the sound of running water. A sly smirk spread across his face. He tiptoed to the bathroom.

Squall jumped at the sharp rake of the shower curtain's rings sliding across the rod. A rush of cold air entered the shower. He turned and met gleeful green eyes. Though sent Seifer a warning glare, his reasons for showering and heading home became less pressing.

Seifer enjoyed the view, reveling in the sight presented to him. Dark hair dripped and clung to a pale neck. His rival's face was exposed, no wayward bangs to hide attractive features. Leonhart was truly stunning. His eyes traveled lower, possessively ogling pale flesh and toned muscles. He licked his lips at the sight of pert nipples.

Before Squall could reprimand the ex-knight, he found himself mirroring Seifer's heated gaze. Silky blond hair stuck out at odd angles, the unkempt manner oddly suiting the meticulously well-groomed businessman. There was stubble along a stern jaw line, and he longed to run his hand over it. When his eyes reached the strong hollow of Seifer's neckline, he bit his lower lip. The shirtless swordsman left his sculpted upper body exposed, and it drove Squall wild. Richly tanned skin and washboard abs made him sink his teeth deeper into his lip. The low riding waist of Seifer's pants seemed to be held in place by a tenting erection.

At the same moment, both men made their move. Seifer reached out to grab the sopping brunet, his hand set at the back of a pale neck to draw plush lips closer. Squall brashly drew the waist of Seifer's pants down and freed the engorged organ inside, his hand quick to stroke the throbbing member. Seifer groaned into their kiss.

Squall gasped in surprise when a strong arm lifted him from the shower. His world tilted as the blond spun him around and set him atop the sink's counter, the cold marble shocking him for a moment.

Seifer fisted the dark tangles of Leonhart's dripping hair. Gaining entry to the swordsman's sweet mouth, he plunged his tongue inside.

Spreading his legs, Squall shifted closer to the counter's edge. He slipped the waist of Seifer's pants even lower, and then pulled the man's hips closer. The press of a throbbing cock against his abdomen signaled his own flaring arousal. He needed to have Seifer inside him.

With a bracing arm at the small of Leonhart's back, Seifer position his rival for entry. He delayed his moment of ecstasy, hesitating long enough to ask, "Did you take a potion?" One look at alabaster skin and he knew the answer. His marks were gone. Leonhart's tight entrance couldn't accommodate him without preparation. Usually he enjoyed the task, but it could be tedious when his cock wanted relief.

"It's fine," Squall returned.

"It's not," Seifer countered, his tone one of reprimand and frustration. He began to release his rival, needing to grab a bottle of lubricant.

Squall held tight, not wanting to let the blond leave. "No."

"Leonhart," Seifer groaned. Cupping a delicate face in his hands, he searched big stormy blue eyes for understanding. "Two seconds," he coaxed.

Squall shook his head.

"I'm not doing that again." Seifer pulled the swordsman's hands away from his neck. The last time he had penetrated the man without preparing first, there had been blood and tears.

"You're an idiot," Squall grumbled. He slipped from the counter and pressed close to the retreating ex-knight. He would punch Seifer if he were forced him to explain himself. After a night like the one they had shared, his body needed more than just scrubbing on the outside. It was difficult to clean himself when his entrance was sore, so he took a potion beforehand. It was beyond embarrassing to admit, which was why he preferred to shower alone. He generally became aroused when washing vestiges of semen and lubricant from inside. He was already stretched.

To make his point, Squall firmly grabbed one of the ex-knight's hands and directed down along the cleft of his buttocks. He buried his face against a muscular chest, hiding his blush. If he were any less aroused, he would have given up on the notion of sex and kicked the blond out of the bathroom.

Seifer began to protest Leonhart's insistent actions, but his fingers had a life of their own. When his fingertips rubbed and pressed against the puckered ring, he quickly realized that pliant flesh was softer than usual. It gave easily as he pressed two fingers inside.

"You took a potion," Seifer reaffirmed with confusion. Leonhart wasn't as tight as he should have been. "Why are you stretched?"

Squall rolled his eyes.

Seifer jumped to the conclusion that his rival had been having fun without him. "Why the hell would you do that when I'm in the other room?" He wanted to ask if he could watch the next time, but he too aroused to risk the chance of the prickly swordsman kicking him out of the bathroom.

Mentally casting a slew of insults at the ex-knight, Squall drew back and glared at the man. "I was cleaning myself," he finally hissed. "Asshole," he added sullenly.

Seifer laughed. He almost chastised the brunet for not explaining with words from the start, but he knew that he would have to learn to live with some habits. In the thirty years he had known Leonhart, speaking had never been the man's first choice of expression. Now he had the pleasure of seeing the way agitation made his rival more adorable than usual.

Securing his favor, Seifer pressed his fingers deeper and stroked against the sensitive prostate gland. All tension left the body in his arms. "Hold onto me," he directed. He removed his fingers and ran his hand along a smooth thigh. Setting his grip behind a knee, he hitched his rival's leg up.

Squall wrapped his arms around Seifer's neck. He felt the cold press of the wall at his back, and then the tightened grip of the arm supporting his lower back. What came next made him cast his head back and clutch the ex-knight closer.

Seifer pressed inside his rival, his cock already weeping pearly beads. He pressed his lips against his rival's ear. "What you do to me should be a crime," he whispered. Without warning, he thrust deep, spearing the former commander against the wall.

"Seifer!" Squall cried, biting down on his lip too late to stop the noise. His fingers dug into tan flesh. He couldn't tell if he touched the ground or not. Seifer held one leg up, while the toes of his other barely reached the tiled floor.

"I'm sure there are laws against it," Seifer murmured as he nuzzled Leonhart's neck. It was wrong to feel so much for one person. His sex drive had never interfered with his life before. Before, when wanted sex he would have simply made time for it. Now, sex was all he thoughts. His life revolved around screwing Leonhart and figuring out ways to keep the man nearby. It was more accurate to conclude that Leonhart was all he thought about, but the implications of such a conclusion repelled him.

Seifer rocked in and out of Leonhart. He set a steady pace, slowly grinding against the quivering brunet. He held back for as long as he could, wanting to draw the blissful experience out as long as possible. Nipping and kissing along the Leonhart's collar, he listened to each hitch of breath and sweet moan. He began to thrust harder and faster, driving his throbbing length deeper and deeper. He could only hold back for so long before the pleasure became too much.

Squall bucked his hips, meeting each forceful thrust. The world faded away, replaced by hot friction and pulsing pleasure. Even at the height of his carnal need, he remained aware of Seifer's presence. The ex-knight was inside him, in front of him, all around him. There was nothing in his world except Seifer. He wanted nothing but Seifer.

"Sweet fucking Hyne," Seifer exclaimed, unable to curb his tendency to swear. Leonhart felt on fire. Every inch of supple flesh answered to his touch. The recalcitrant fighter submitted to him and accepted him without resistance. He sought Leonhart's mouth as he thrust faster. He was addicted to the clamping heat that gripped his manhood tightly. He needed to feel Squall, whether it was while he thrust his cock in and out of the man's body, or when he felt the firm press of a warm body in the middle of the night.

"Close," Squall gasped. He couldn't last much longer. He had no stamina when it involved delaying an orgasm, Seifer saw to that.

Seifer came first, having been close since the moment he set eyes on his rival's naked body in the shower. He didn't stop until his manhood spent every last jerk. He felt the warm gush between them, and knew Leonhart had followed his lead.

It took several moments for reality to settle in. Squall's heart beat with a note of fear as he oriented himself again. He set his head against Seifer's broad shoulder while he caught his breath. It was alarming to lose control like that. He never left himself exposed, except around Seifer.

Seifer stepped back, drawing Leonhart away from the wall. Water still sprayed from the showerhead. While attacking plush lips, he navigated his way to the shower.

--

All at once, Seifer and Squall found themselves ensconced in work. An entire week passed with nothing more than late night phone calls. Seifer had attempted to make those calls as erotic as possible, only to give up when Squall kept hanging up on him.

Squall spent the majority of his time in Balamb, organizing and instructing a team that would head into the heavily invested jungle of an island off Centra's coast. Plans for a marine based garden were on hold until the surrounding area could be secured. Unlike the relatively harmless monsters that roamed the rolling plains and shores near Balamb Garden, the monsters on this island were dangerously aggressive and many of them were unknown.

When Squall returned home late Friday night, he did so with a heavy heart and tired body. He had exhausted himself researching and gathering intelligence on the creatures and environment of the island. His brain buzzed with strategies for tactical extermination. The week had proven particularly taxing by his mind's tendency to harbor stray thoughts of Seifer. It wasn't easy to instruct mercenaries when he kept remembering the feel of Seifer's lips kissing his neck.

As he walked down the hallway from the elevator, he checked his phone for messages. He expected to find several texts from Seifer. They had a knack for missing each other. Whenever he found the time to return a text, the ex-knight ended up in a meeting or interviewing trainers or discussing plans for sporting events.

Stormy blue eyes read over the first of several missed messages. Seifer was as demanding in the tiny print that filled his phone's screen as he was in person. The man wanted to know when he planned on returning to Esthar. His schedule had been tentative all week. He had flown back and forth, managing to spend a couple nights sleeping in Esthar and seeing his son off to school in the morning.

Swiping his keycard and keying the code, Squall debated the evils of letting Seifer know he had already returned. He was too tired for a night of passionate lovemaking, though he could be easily persuaded.

"It's about fucking time," a baritone voice barked from the living room.

Squall's steps faltered. His son materialized from around the corner. Lore knocked him back apace, but the boy's arms clung tightly and steadied his precarious balance.

"Mamma's boy," a sullen voice grumbled.

Squall peered over his son's shoulder and found Seifer standing casually near the entryway. Jade-green eyes practically sparkled, though a predatory gleam undermined their warmth.

Seifer straightened his tall frame and cast a lopsided grin his rival's way. Leonhart looked tired, but not tired enough to keep from blushing when stormy blue eyes strayed to the bit of his collar exposed beneath the top of his pale blue dress shirt. He wasn't the only one starved for sex.

"What are you doing here?" Squall asked evenly, masking his surprise.

"The mice will play," Seifer returned, waving his hand.

Squall quirked a skeptical brow. Seifer was hardly a mouse.

"He just came over," Lore informed his father. "He won't leave."

Seifer pressed a hand to his heart. "I'm hurt, kid."

"I asked him to at least stay for dinner," Laguna explained, joining Seifer to crowd the entryway.

Everyone's gaze turned to rest on the president. He stood farthest away, drying his hands on a dishtowel. Squall was immediately concerned that his father had been cooking, which was never good news.

"You cooked?" Squall asked in a cautious tone. The collateral damage his father could cause in a kitchen was unparalleled.

Laguna smiled sheepishly. "That was the plan," he said.

Seifer scoffed. "I cooked," he assured.

Lore glanced away sullenly. He'd never admit that he had enjoyed something Seifer made for dinner.

Laguna explained, "Things started getting out of hand. I think there's something wrong with your stove. So, Seifer stepped in."

Squall looked at his watch. It was eight o'clock. If he had hurried back and made it on time for dinner, he would have seen quite the show.

"There's a plate in the microwave," Laguna said.

Squall didn't know what to say. He wondered if he had entered the wrong apartment. Seifer appeared perfectly at home and had cooked dinner for his family. Lore didn't seem ready to gouge the man's eyes out, which was a promising sign, but bizarre nonetheless.

Lore reached out and grabbed his father's duffel bag. "Are you finally done?" he queried, hitching the bag over his shoulder.

"Until the mission," Squall replied. The task force assigned would need another week to prepare, and then he would lead the team.

"What mission?" Seifer interjected, cutting the brat off.

Lore glanced over his shoulder ruefully, having been about to ask that very question.

Squall shrugged and shouldered past the inquisitive duo.

"I'll heat your plate up," Laguna offered, turning and making his way to the kitchen before Squall could stop him.

Squall didn't respond to Seifer's question.

"How long will you be away this time?" Seifer demanded. He was hot on Leonhart's tail as the man moved through the living room.

Squall didn't bother turning around or stopping. He made his way to his bedroom. "Between two weeks to two months," he answered over his shoulder.

"What?" Lore remarked in protest. "Why so long?" He was nearly atop the ex-knight's heals in similar pursuit.

Crowding into Squall's room, Seifer and Lore stood inside the door, their broad frames effectively blocking the exit as they posed their questions. Squall stared from one stern face to the other. He suddenly wasn't too keen on the idea of Lore spending time around Seifer. On the off chance that the two stopped bickering long enough to bond, he might never win an argument again if they teamed up against him.

"It's just an estimate," Squall assured. It would only be two months if everything went wrong. Cid had put together a capable team. He had already approved the candidates for the mission, and he expected the sweep to go smoothly.

"Even two weeks is longer than usual," Lore pointed out.

Squall shrugged. "It's a bigger mission."

"What kind of mission?" Seifer pressed. He crossed his arms, not liking the idea of Leonhart running off into danger without him to watch his back. As cadets, he had often teamed up with Leonhart for drills. Though he had never made a point of looking out for Leonhart, he had always been in a position to do so. If Leonhart had wound up in a sticky situation, he would have helped, if only to hold it over the man's head.

With a scowl, Squall reminded, "I can't give details. It's a sweeper mission."

Lore gnawed on his lip, uncertain how he felt. He didn't disapprove of his father's job, but it had been ages since the man saw combat. "Does it have to do with the new garden they're building?"

Squall nodded. It was rare that Cid requested his help on missions, and even then his aide didn't enter the field unless absolutely necessary. The island they intended to clean up could have any number of unknown monsters. Cid wanted him there for any worst-case scenarios that might arise, and he was inclined to accept the request since he truly enjoyed fighting. He could tell by the wary look in his son's eyes that the boy was not as enthused about his mission.

Jaw clenched, Seifer reflected on the past week. Even when Leonhart had flown home for the night, he had not seen the man. If he had, he wouldn't have been able to let go without an entire night of satisfying his desires. They had both been busy, and couldn't afford to lose sleep like that. The time apart had crawled at an agonizingly slow pace.

Two months was a long time. Seifer hadn't lived in Esthar much longer than two months. In that time, his entire world had turned upside down. A lot could happen in two months, and Leonhart would be absent for all of it.

"Two months," Seifer murmured to himself. A daunting fear formed in the back of his mind. What if Leonhart returned with a renewed outlook on their relationship? Two months was a long time to reconsider what they were doing.

Seifer's thoughts veered down a different path. His expression darkened as he considered who Leonhart would be spending those two months with. Leonhart would be surrounded by a group of oversexed teenagers and young men who would desperate for release by the end of the first week. He had an iron grip on his desires and unparalleled self-control, and even he couldn't quite contain himself around the former commander. Lesser men would crack quickly and resort to force.

Seifer grew less worried about Leonhart facing nasty critters in the jungle and more concerned with the possibility of mutiny and an organized gang rape. If he said his thoughts aloud, he would have laughed at how ridiculous they seemed, but his mind reasoned that anything was possible.

Squall watched the parade of various emotions flit through Seifer's eyes. He needed to be alone with the man. "Lore, make sure your grandfather doesn't set anything on fire."

Setting the duffel bag down, Lore cast a cautious glance to the ex-knight before retreating. He knew an order when he heard one. He didn't like leaving Seifer alone with his father, but he didn't think the arrogant man was bold enough to attack when he, his grandfather, and his grandfather's escort of guards were only a shout away.

Squall shrugged out of his bomber jacket and set it at the foot of the bed. "It shouldn't be that long," he said quietly.

"But it might be," Seifer returned. He couldn't quite grasp his reasons for feeling so opposed, but he had strong reservations against Leonhart leaving for such a long time. "The boy said-"

"Lore," Squall corrected insistently. His son had a name. Their son had a name.

Seifer hesitated. Clearing his throat, he amended, "_Lore_ said you were practically retired."

Squall scoffed. He felt retired at times, which only made him feel old. His affiliation with Balamb Garden had grown distant. He was practically a figurehead, only called out for major operations. There were no more challenges and Cid made sure he never came too close to battle. The world was a relatively safe place without an out of control sorceress. The prospect of two weeks immersed in a jungle, not knowing if an insanely strong monster lurked around the next tree, was positively thrilling. As much as he would love to spend his time moonlighting in Seifer's bed, he would rather wield his blade and feel the rush of an adventure.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, Squall waited to hear what it was Seifer wanted from him.

Seifer strode closer. He refused to voice the nature of his concerns, and he would never ask Leonhart to step down. He understood what a mission meant. The thrill of a fight and allure of adventure was in their blood, practically hard coded into their DNA. There was only a single solution. He needed to have a little chat with Kinneas. If the overprotective gunman weren't on the mission, then the man at least stood a decent chance of joining up. He hated the prospect of requesting a favor. He just needed to make Kinneas realize that they had a common interest at hand.

With a sigh, Seifer muttered, "I'll be damned if I would ever asked you to back down from the promise of a good fight. Tell me you're at least ditching me for some serious fucking carnage."

A smirk betrayed Squall's excitement. Bowing his head, his bangs fell forward and shadowed his expression. "Unexplored territory," he muttered cryptically.

Towering over the seated brunet, Seifer reached out and drew a delicate chin higher. "Do you know how hard it's been this week?" His thumb traced back and forth over a pout bottom lip. The petal soft texture and sensuously plush shape beckoned him to take a taste. He loved those lips. They were his. Only he was allowed to crush them against his own, turning them from a seashell pink to a near crimson. It had been a very long week, a week without Leonhart's lips.

"I have some idea," Squall whispered in response, his lips brushing against Seifer's thumb. There was a coy undertone in his voice that he hadn't intentionally adopted.

Seifer's expression darkened. "Where are my manners?" he remarked. "I haven't welcomed you back properly."

A shiver ran through Squall's body. Seifer's voice had dropped a note. The husky baritone stirred warmth in his loins.

"You know why I couldn't before," Seifer murmured. Drawing his fingers from an enticing mouth, he trailed them along Leonhart's smooth jaw line, and down a slender neck. His eyes, clouded with lust, followed his hand's pursuit. "Once I start…" He trailed off, swallowing thickly as his fingers felt a beating pulse.

Squall knew exactly what Seifer meant. If the man had kissed him in the entryway, they would have pealed each other's clothes off before managing two steps to his bedroom. "Not all the way," he admonished. He reached out and grasped the blond's shirt, tugging him down.

"No promises," Seifer said. He fought his surging lust. It suddenly seemed like a bad idea to have come there. The bedroom door remained open, and he had a week of pent up desires to express. He wanted to ravish plush lips, tear away the smaller swordsman's close, and pin the man to the bed. He couldn't, not with President Loire and a minor in the other room.

When Seifer realized that Leonhart's pulse was racing, he couldn't hold back any long. He seized his rival's shoulders and toppled the man to the bed. He kissed those perfect lips, feverishly melding them against his own. His restraint snapped, and his desires flooded forth.

Pinned down, Squall inched back against the mattress. He drew his legs up, spreading them to feel the solid press of Seifer's body against him. He wounded his arms around the man, hugging him close while battling a slick tongue. Rough hands groped all over his body, touching him as though making certain he were real.

Seifer feared that he might be dreaming, but the solid body beneath him didn't vanish into thin air. He groaned into their kiss, reveling in the sweet taste of Leonhart's mouth. How had he managed to go an entire week without kissing Leonhart? How could he possibly hope to survive two months? He needed Leonhart. He needed to kiss the fussy fighter, to have him in his arms at night and wake up to the sight of that gorgeous body covered in marks he had made.

"Hyne, I need you," Seifer declared, saying the words before he could realize the depth of meaning behind them. He broke away from kiss-bruised lips and gazed into dazed eyes. He felt a small token of fear at how his statement would be received. The urge to explain himself and amend his words arose, but he decided there was no better way of expressing how he felt. He refused to retract his statement

A flicker of understanding came to Squall's eyes. As his mind cleared, Seifer's words rattled around, countless interpretations coming from them. He didn't know what to make of the man's statement or solemn expression.

Seifer let his edging fear overcome him. Later, he would berate his cowardice. Feeling overwhelmed by his emotions was becoming a theme around Leonhart. Before the confused swordsman could respond, he cut he man off and claimed swollen lips again. It was far too soon for such sentiments, and he didn't know why he had let such troublemaking words slip out.

Rolling to the side, Seifer drew Leonhart atop himself. He groped his way down to the brunet's pert buttocks and kneaded supple flesh until he elicited a sweet moan.

Laguna turned the bend into his son's bedroom and nearly tripped over his own two feet. "Oh dear," he mumbled. Blushing from ear to ear, he stumbled back a step into the hallway. Glancing down the narrow corridor to the living room, he tried to determine if Lore was still in the kitchen. He returned his gaze to the sex craved couple.

Seifer rolled their forms back over, preferring to be on top. Gathering Leonhart's wrists together, he pinned them above the man's head. He didn't have a fetish for bondage, but a thrill ran through him at the minor subjugation. He broke away from slick lips to exploit Leonhart's sensitive neck. He sucked hard at a racing pulse. His grip on bony wrists tightened with each moan the panting beauty made. Before he could catch his breath, his insatiable appetite forced him to return to Leonhart's mouth. His tongue danced against the writhing swordsman's, thrusting inside and claiming his territory. Two months without such succulent delights seemed impossible.

Laguna cleared his throat. He didn't want to intrude, but felt it would be prudent to at least remind Squall that there were others in the apartment. When throat clearing proved futile, he knocked several times on the doorframe. Hand shielding his eyes, he scanned the floor for a stick to prod his son with, knowing he'd never find one. Preparing to pound on the door, he paused for a moment and stared in befuddled confusion at lip locked lovers. How did they breathe?

Startled from his inappropriate observations, Laguna's ears perked at what he thought was his grandson calling for him. He took a deep breath and pounded his fist against the open door. "I'll be there in a second!" he shouted to Lore, pointedly making his presence known.

Jolting in Seifer's arms, Squall went rigid.

Seifer growled a note of frustration, his hand about to slip beneath Leonhart's shirt. Drawing their kiss to an end, he reluctantly glanced towards the doorway. Spotting the bright red older man, he sighed. At least the president had the good sense not to stare. He didn't want anyone seeing his rival's aroused expressions, even if that someone couldn't possibly pose a threat.

"If he weren't the president, I'd kill him," Seifer whispered, earning a smack against his shoulder. He grinned and kissed Leonhart again.

Squall pushed at the ex-knight's shoulders, urging the man from atop him.

In no hurry, Seifer slowly detached himself, making certain to brush against the brunet as much as possible. Standing from the bed, he raked a hand through his hair. He offered a hand to help Leonhart up, but the stubborn swordsman ignored him while standing on his own.

Squall fidgeted for a moment, tugging the hem of his shirt down and wiping his lips. He should have known better than to let Seifer kiss him with the door open. He had hoped that their time apart had given him some self-restraint, but it seemed to have the opposite effect. Even as he stood before his own father, who had just witnessed him sucking on another man's tongue, all he wanted to do was request the ex-knight join him in the shower.

Appearing cool and collected despite his inner turmoil, Seifer demanded control of himself. It was easier to suppress his rampant desires if he reasoned that doing so would allow him to fulfill his sexual appetence at a later time.

"I'll leave, but Friday night you're mine," Seifer bargained. Before he could stray farther than the doorway, stormy blue eyes beckoned him back. Rushing closer, he stooped to capture Leonhart's mouth. One kiss turned into two, and then three. He tried to break away, but invariably found himself kissing the brunet again.

Squall knew he should push Seifer away, but he received each kiss willingly.

Laguna cleared his throat again. He stared bashfully towards the floor, pretending not to notice how reluctant both men seemed to part.

Seifer cast a narrow gaze towards Laguna. "I was starting to like you," he muttered in mock disappointment. "You're a real kill joy, Mr. President."

Laguna cast a guilty gaze to his son, appearing rebuked. It wasn't until Squall nudged Seifer in the ribs that the ex-knight spoke up. "I'm joking," he grumbled.

Lifting his head, Laguna glanced between the two with a hopeful gleam in hazel green eyes. "I didn't mean to bother, but it seemed like… I mean, the door was open and all…"

"It's fine," Squall assured, too embarrassed to explain that he often forgot about his surroundings the moment Seifer's lips were on his.

"Eat dinner," Seifer instructed. He placed one last fleeting kiss to Leonhart's mouth before walking away.

Squall watched after the ex-knight, with an eager longing in his eyes that revealed his desire to follow.

Laguna stood still as Squall stepped out into the hallway to catch a final glimpse of the blond disappearing into the entryway.

"Squall," Laguna said in a solemn voice. He stared after the ex-knight as well, and then regarded his son. Though he had already received more than an eyeful, he dared to pry further into his son's affairs. "How serious is this?" Watching the two interact, he wondered if Squall were even aware of the gestures that suggested a deep love between them.

Squall frowned. With a shake of his head, he requested clarification.

Laguna studied the former commander for a moment. "Back there," he began, gesturing to the bedroom, "you could barely let go. I see it in your eyes right now. You're a heartbeat away from running after him."

A rosy blush came to Squall's cheeks. He glowered at his father, but couldn't hide his embarrassment.

Laguna frowned. A sharper edge in his eyes indicated that he spoke with the same conscientiousness that he did as president. "The same goes for Seifer. I think he would have carried you out of here if he thought he could get away with it."

"Laguna," Squall said with a biting edge. He had enough people telling him he was insane for dating Seifer. He didn't need his father inputting further opposition.

"For the record, I like Seifer a lot," Laguna assured, fearing he had given the wrong impression. "Lore isn't too fond of him, but I think they had a good time together today."

Squall gaped at his father. "What?" he intoned incredulously.

Laguna smiled warmly. He had felt awkward intruding on the couple, but now that he had his son alone, his wits returned. He wanted Squall to understand that the whole world wasn't against the gunbladists' relationship. "You should have seen them. The insults went back and forth. They're both so sharp, but they always missed the target on purpose."

"Really," Squall murmured to himself, unable to believe any of it. He wished he had returned earlier.

"I just want you to know that I'm happy you've found someone to love." Laguna set a hand on Squall's shoulder and squeezed gently. He had liked Cale, but that had been a safe choice. Squall had stars in his eyes whenever Seifer was around. The risks were greater, but so were the rewards.

"Love?" Squall choked on the word. Seifer's declaration about needing him echoed in his mind, though he didn't know why. He wanted to assume that the passionate ex-knight had spoken in the heat of the moment, but there had been a brief pause afterwards when jade green eyes had searched his own for a response. What had Seifer meant by those words?

Shaking his head, Squall forced the matter from his mind. He was reading too much into everything. Seifer was the bluntest person he knew, and if the man had intended to tell him something, he wouldn't have to pick apart each word to find the meaning.

"Did I say something wrong?"

"It's too soon to tell anything," Squall stated. He wanted to deny what his father had said. There was a voice inside him screaming that love had absolutely nothing to do with what he felt for Seifer. He couldn't quiet this voice, but he couldn't express it either. Some part of him suppressed the anxious thoughts that pointed out how ludicrous it would be to love his rival. All he could manage was to deny that he felt love at that moment, which suggested a future where it was possible.

A small tremor passed through Squall as he considered where his whirlwind romance might lead.

"Are you okay?" Laguna feared he had overstepped his boundaries. He wasn't as close to Squall as Lore was. He had limits.

"I'm fine," Squall assured evenly. He wasn't fine.

"If you're too tired to eat, I can wrap the plate up and put it in the fridge. It's good though, you should try it."

Nodding absently, Squall turned and walked back to his bedroom. "I need a shower," he muttered over his shoulder. A cold shower might help cool his desires, but it could nothing to stop the rampant thoughts running through his head.

TBC…

A/N: 0_o

Sorry, late again. I had to find a solid direction for this chapter, which wasn't there no matter how much I had written for it. There are more pages of scrapped writing than there are pages that I actually used, which depresses me, but I'm hoping to salvage some bits for the next chapter. I hope everyone had a happy holiday. Thank you all for the awesome reviews.

Consider this chapter a holiday present, but given at a post-holiday time to fend off the depression of having to wait another year for the holidays. ^_^ It's not an excuse, it's a scientific fact.

Please tell me what you think. I'm trying to ease into the love thing, even if the story is already getting ridiculously drawn out.


	42. Chapter 42

**Warning: **Mature content ahead. Youths beware.

Defining Love

Chapter Forty-Two

Seifer strode through the halls of Trabia Garden as though he owned them. Making his way at a leisurely pace, he gave passersby enough time to double-take and realize who he was. The expressions on the cadets' faces were priceless.

In black slacks, a forest green sweater with a high collar, and a knee-length trench coat, he was a prominent figure among so many uniformed bodies. Even if the crowd had been more colorful, he wouldn't have failed to stand out, but now he was like a blazing light that attracted all the wrong attention. He appeared wholly unaware of the escort at his side; a mousy looking boy who shrunk inward every time Seifer glanced at him.

In his office, Irvine reclined in a chair with his feet propped on the desk. The tips of his worn cowboy boots pointed to the ceiling while his hat covered his eyes. At the meek knock on his door, he twitched but did not stir.

Seifer burst into the office, not waiting for an invitation. The mousy escort gave a yelp, but didn't try to intervene.

Startled at the outburst, Irvine jerked awake, nearly falling out of the chair. Papers rustled and plopped to the floor, along with his hat.

Seifer didn't suppress his laughter, even though he knew it didn't help his cause.

Standing straight with fire in his eyes and a reprimand on his tongue, Irvine suddenly appeared baffled when he realized who had just entered his office. "Almasy?" he intoned incredulously. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Excellent question," Seifer said after his laughter subsided. He moved forward until he stood across from Kinneas, not caring that he stood on several of the papers that had fallen.

Irvine took an angry step forward, but faltered before taking another. He had wasted enough of his time and energy on Seifer. Fighting now would accomplish nothing. A few punches weren't worth the brain scrambling repercussions of being punched in return, and Squall certainly wasn't going to stop dating the man for it.

Picking up his hat and dusting it off, Irvine set it atop his head and peered narrowly beneath the brim. "Don't waste my time," he said. "Why are you here?"

Seeming to take notice of the mess for the first time, Seifer used to the toe of his boots to brush fallen papers out of his way. "I certainly didn't mean to interrupt your beauty sleep," he remarked.

"Get out," Irvine ordered. What did it matter to him why Seifer was there?

"I came to talk," Seifer said, his civil tone betrayed by his sneer of contempt. He didn't want to be there, but Squall had placed him in an impossible situation. There were no other viable options. Kinneas was his only hope, which was not a hope he wanted.

"In person? You could have called," Irvine pointed out.

"You could have hung up," Seifer returned. The best way to catch someone's attention was to look them in the eye. He needed to be taken seriously, because he wasn't going to beg.

Irvine inclined his head and tipped his hat back. His fingers twitched, itching to draw his gun. Jade-green eyes flickered to the holster at his hip, not missing where his thoughts were headed. Although Squall was a common interest between them, the laconic brunet was also their point of contention. He would not accept Seifer in Squall's life. It could only end disastrously, and he didn't want Squall having more heartache after Cale. "Once again, what do you want?" he asked acidly.

"A small favor," Seifer said, smirking at the way the cowboy's eyes narrowed to pinpoints.

A quiver of anger coursed through Irvine. The ex-knight had limitless arrogance and audacity. "What makes you think I'd do _you_ a favor?"

Holding back for as long as he could, Seifer relished the cowboy's outrage. Pissing people off was more than a hobby, it was an art form. Finally relenting the tiny detail that would quiet Kinneas' wrath, he muttered, "It's not for me. It's for Leonhart."

Jaw clenching and unclenching, Irvine struggled to swallow his lump of volatile feelings. Grudgingly, he asked, "What does Squall need?"

Seifer couldn't keep from grinning. He enjoyed watching the gunman squirm. He knew the man wanted to reach across the desk and throttle him. Although he had no sympathy for overly protective best friends, he could empathize with wanting to shield Leonhart from the rest of the world. "Leonhart needs you on this mission of his," he explained in a mockingly civil tone.

Confused, Irvine glanced around his desk as though clarity could be found somewhere in the scattered papers. Wondering if he were still asleep, he tried to fathom the chain of events that had happened since Seifer's sudden appearance. If he were dreaming, then he certainly had an accurate depiction of the ex-knight as someone who cast the world into disorder.

With a frustrated sigh, Irvine demanded, "What are you talking about?"

"His mission," Seifer said, stressing each syllable. "He deploys in a week to an island near Centra."

"Yes," Irvine muttered. "I know he has a mission. What about it? What's it got to do with me?"

Seifer prayed for patience. "I have an exceedingly short fuse, Kinneas. Each moment I spend explaining things to your remarkably small brain, I lose time that could be put to better use fucking Leonhart."

Violet-blue eyes narrowed, and a small jerk in Irvine's fingers suggested that he teetered on the edge of attacking. As he took a shaky breath, his nostrils flared with the effort of calming himself. A strong voice in his head tried to reason that a few bullets wouldn't necessarily kill Seifer, just maim the man. He had a particular part of the ex-knight that he would truly enjoy maiming. "Then I suggest you talk faster, Almasy. I can get you a pen and paper if you'd prefer. It seems like Squall's been leading you around by the nose, so if you're taking after him and not speaking, then writing should be just fine."

"You're a fucking riot," Seifer muttered. Leaning forward, he gripped the edge of the desk. He was only an inch taller than Kinneas, but he stretched that inch into a mile and towered over the sharp shooter.

Leaning forward in turn, Irvine stared balefully into jade-green eyes. Even as his eyes burned to blink, he refused the urge. "Do you hear me laughing?"

Voice dropping to a menacing baritonal, Seifer questioned, "Just to be perfectly clear, are you or are you not on the mission?"

Through gritted teeth, Irvine declared, "Centra's a little out of the way for Trabia Garden."

"Okay," Seifer bit out. "Is there any way you can get on the team?"

Irvine finally blinked. Drawing back, he tried to imagine why Seifer would be asking him such a question. "Why would I do that?"

Taking a deep breath, Seifer took a moment to calm down. "Because I can't," he admitted.

Further perplexed, Irvine felt his anger turning into sheer frustration. He could not understand what motivated Seifer's actions. "Why would you want to do that?"

"Dammit Kinneas!" Seifer snapped, his fist hitting the desktop. He ignored the gun suddenly leveled at his forehead. Standing straight, he paced away and cut the air in a violent gesture. "You're the one who's always so concerned about Leonhart's safety," he ranted. Turning around, he regarded the gunman earnestly. "It should be obvious." They had one thing in common. Leonhart was everything at the moment. Leonhart was his reason for being there, and his reason for not attempting to lunge across the desk and kill Kinneas.

Holstering his gun, Irvine frowned. "You're worried about him?" he said in disbelief. Finding confirmation in the ex-knight's glaring gaze, he shook his head disapprovingly. "You don't know him very well then."

Rolling his eyes, Seifer muttered, "We all know Leonhart's a big boy who can take care of himself. I give him props for knowing how to handle a blade."

Irvine scoffed. "Have you picked up a history book lately? He's the best fighter in the world, probably the best there has been or will be for generations."

"It's sick how your little fan club drools over him."

"Well, we can't all be sore losers like you," Irvine quipped.

Seifer ignored the insult, not wanting to alienate the gunman further. "It's the crew he's with that concerns me," he explained. "Two months alone with him in closed quarters. They'll be in life and death situations. Those cocksuckers would have to be eunuchs not to go after him. They probably already carry torches for him, like you do, wagging their tails and worshipping him like an idol."

Irvine was stunned. He didn't know whether to laugh or draw his gun again. "Is that a joke?"

Approaching the desk again, Seifer tried to impress how serious he took the matter. "If I can't be my own eyes and ears, then I need someone there who'll look out for him," he stated. When the gunman simply continued to stare blankly at him, he added, "After witnessing your annoyingly persistent attempts to keep me away, I figure you're a trailing runner up for the job."

"Please, don't sing my praises," Irvine drawled. His immediate reaction was to throw Seifer out of his office, by the force of every handy SeeD in Trabia Garden if necessary.

Before Irvine could reject the ex-knight, an annoying understanding came to him. Seifer was absolutely right. Squall would be cut off from the world, surrounded by a dozen young men. Rules and boundaries would be thrown out after the first day. The scenario would be an isolated group fighting to survive, while struggling under the pressure to complete the mission.

It was a breeding ground for delinquent and rogue behavior. The reason that women were generally kept out of such missions was because past instances had revealed strained relations between the sexes. Squall was not a woman, but to a lot of mercenaries, someone like Squall was the highest ideal.

Irvine had stashed the news of Squall's mission away without thinking twice on it. Squall didn't go on missions often, but was capable enough that he didn't worry. Now that Seifer pointed out the unique circumstances that increased the particular risks involved for Squall, he felt like a fool for not expressing any concern sooner.

Not wanting to reveal his hand, Irvine hid his growing trepidation. He was eager to place a call to Cid, but refused to give Seifer the satisfaction of agreeing so quickly. Instead, he smiled.

Seifer grew cautious, unable to follow the gunman's thoughts and changes of expression. The man seemed oddly at ease all of a sudden.

Taking his seat again, Irvine drawled, "You need me to be with Squall, because you can't be with him yourself." Already on board with the idea, he put up a false pretense. "This should be interesting," he said, opening the door for negotiations.

--

Squall sat beside Cale's grave. Knees huddled to his chest, he leaned his head against the cold headstone and stared off towards the horizon. There was a cluster of long flat clouds that shifted the sunset from orange to pink. A warm breeze played through his hair, tousling wayward strands.

For the last hour, he had taken refuge in the cemetery's silence, thinking to himself and letting his thoughts stray wherever they wanted. In two days, he shipped out for Centra. As excited as he was about the mission, he wasn't happy.

There was more incentive to stay home than usual. Lore wasn't the only person unhappy with his departure. Seifer wanted him to stay, but would never ask him to.

Sighing, Squall reminded himself that there was no one else qualified to lead the team. While building another garden wasn't a matter of life or death, it was important to Cid. Disappointing the headmaster wasn't an option. Even at thirty-five, he remained indebted to Cid Kramer.

The sound of crunching gravel startled Squall from his lost reverie. Drawn back to reality, he unfurled his legs and stood. Turning, he spotted Seifer's tall form striding closer, up the ascending gravel path. The red rays of sunlight made the ex-knight's hair appear a ruddy gold, and gave tanned skin a darker glow.

Jade-green eyes remained fixed on the slim silhouette at the top of the small hill. There was no mistaking the feel of speculative stormy-blue eyes watching his every movement. When he drew even, he paused at the edge of Bernhein's grave. The grassy mound was nearly level, but still distinguishable.

Squall didn't speak. He turned away and looked towards the horizon. The view calmed him, though his heart rate spiked when Seifer stood beside him. Their arms brushed.

Seifer studied Leonhart's profile. The man was achingly beautiful. Behind long lashes, the entire sunset was reflected in bright blue eyes. The very shapes of the clouds were visible if he looked deep enough. Leonhart's eyes were no longer a grayish-blue. They seemed to absorb the colors of the sky, appearing red, orange, pink, and even gold. Pale skin took on a glowing hue, almost translucent. For a moment, he thought he might be dreaming. When he reached out and caressed Leonhart's cheek, he knew he was awake. Not even his most vivid dreams could replicate the soft warmth of his rival's skin.

Sliding his fingers down along a delicate jaw line, Seifer ghosted over a slender neck and set his grip at the nape. Squeezing gently, he urged Leonhart to look at him. When those mysteriously golden hued eyes found his, he felt lost.

There was something intangible between them, and Seifer feared Leonhart was close to slipping away. Digging his fingers into thick brown hair, he refused to let the man disappear. Leonhart gave a small wince that indicated he was being too rough, but he didn't care.

Squall felt his knees buckle in mere anticipation. Seifer's eyes shimmered an emerald green in the sunlight, their focus burning into him. He knew what came next. Seifer would kiss him. He waited several painstaking moments, his body desperately trying to prepare itself for the onslaught of desire.

Seifer's breathing grew taut. Leonhart's lips beckoned him, but he didn't act immediately. He knew every tangible aspect involved. Each one of his senses was stimulated and teased by the minx in front of him. His eyes were captivated by Leonhart's ethereal beauty, and a warm breeze taunted him with the scent of untamed brown hair. His head swirled with distinct memories of the warm feel of that supple body, and how sweet those plush lips tasted. Yet, there was something more between them, some nagging presence. It wasn't physical. It was an emotion he couldn't identify.

Gnawing on his lower lip, Squall suppressed an unbecoming plea that threatened to escape. Why hadn't the man kissed him yet?

As satisfying as a kiss would be, Seifer wanted something else. Using his hold on Leonhart, he pulled the brunet close. Drawn within the confines of his arms, he crushed the seemingly fragile body against his chest and prayed the force didn't break the man.

Struggling to breathe, Squall couldn't find a voice to complain when the restricted breaths he did manage were full of Seifer's scent. Burying his face against the hollow of the man's neck, a woodsy spice set him at ease.

"Two fucking days left and you spend your time here," Seifer scolded. He felt Leonhart squirm indignantly, but he kept a firm hold. "A lesser man would be jealous," he declared, all the while throwing Bernhein's headstone a vicious glare. Berhnhein's death had immortalized the man in Leonhart's heart, but he would not be defeated. He would fill Squall's every waking thought until there was no room for anyone else.

"Let go," Squall urged in a muffled voice.

Arms tightening, Seifer felt every curve and crevice of his body piece together with Leonhart's. "Never," he said. He inhaled against Leonhart's hair, the chestnut strands appearing bronze in the light.

Struggling to push back, Squall began to feel lightheaded. His ribs ached and his lungs struggled against the immense pressure. "Seifer," he hissed.

"Is that what you really want?" Seifer challenged.

"I can't breathe," Squall gasped. As alluring as the ex-knight's neckline was, he wouldn't be able to enjoy it if he passed out. When the pressure eased, he took deeper breaths and relaxed in the loosened hold.

"Better?" Seifer questioned.

Nodding against the ex-knight's solid chest, Squall closed his eyes. Despite the warmth of the day, he huddled against Seifer as though he felt a chill. The world began to fade away, and he wished it would never come back. He wanted to disappear inside Seifer's arms.

The sky paled, the pinks and reds slowly bleeding away. Darkness set over the cemetery, even as the western sky remained light.

___

Waking slowly, Squall gained a hazy awareness. Warmth wrapped around him like a blanket, though he could feel that the soft fabric of the bed sheet was only drawn to his waist. A dull throb radiated from his lower body. Sighing softly, he recalled the hours he had spent with Seifer. The sleeping blond didn't know the meaning of excess. Even worse, he had become weak to Seifer's manners of persuasion. He couldn't refuse the man any more than he could refuse a request from Lore.

Not remembering when he had fallen asleep, Squall could only conclude that he had drifted off in exhaustion. Under different circumstances he might feel resentment. Instead, he conceded that his physical stamina was no match for the ex-knight's insatiable sex drive.

He tried to coax his arms to move, but his limbs were stubborn and comfortable where they were. His body was completely drained. Seeing that it was still dark, he wondered why he had woken up.

Squall found that his throat was dry. It felt scratchy when he swallowed. He grimaced inwardly. Though he was the last person to strain his voice from overuse, Seifer wrought the most embarrassing sounds from him. In need of a glass of water, he lifted his head from his bedmate's pillowing arm.

A sharp intake of breath sounded near Squall's ear. The arm draped across his midsection tightened its hold. Hauled back, the distance that had formed between their sleeping bodies disappeared.

"Stay," Seifer murmured, still half asleep.

Eyes drooping shut, Squall felt the ex-knight's command work like tendrils of magic. Setting his head back down, he reached a lazy hand up to the outstretched arm that cradled him. Slipping his fingers along an open palm, he twined his with the demanding man behind him. Sleep washed over him again, but not before he felt Seifer's fingers respond in a firm grip.

Seifer's heart fluttered pleasantly. There was no denying how pleasant and natural it felt to hold Leonhart in his arms. Dating his rival still seemed like the most ludicrous farce in the world, but it was far from a joke. Their sexual compatibility only increased the more familiar they became with one another's bodies. Their conversations were scarce, but they had more in common than he had previously thought. He truly enjoyed the brunet's company, even when they were both fully clothed and not facing each other with weapons.

He was wary of how deep his attachment would grow. Despite all his romantic notions as a naïve youth, he had never fallen prey to sappy delusions about true love. He had a fair share of heated relationships in his repertoire, but even those were accompanied by a levelheaded understanding that breakups were inevitable. He had loved only a handful of women in his life. He knew what love was and how it felt. He knew the signs to look for that would tell him how close he was to falling in love.

What he felt for Leonhart was not love. He felt a mild disappointment at this, but would never admit to it. Nonetheless, his feelings for Leonhart were like nothing he had ever experienced. Like all things unknown, there was reason to remain cautious.

At least when he had been overcome by lust for the reticent swordsman, he had known what lust was. He had known what to do with those feelings. When lust overcame him, the solution was to fuck Leonhart against the nearest wall. Now, he had no idea what sort of murky feelings lurked inside him. There was a sense of rightness; that everything in his life was lining into place.

He also felt a great deal of greed. Holding Leonhart close, he never wanted to let go. He wasn't simply greedy for attention. He was greedy for everything. He felt a suffocating need to possess Leonhart completely.

Unlike lust, he had no idea how to go about expressing such emotions. Searching for some outlet, he settled on tightening his hold and nuzzling the nape of Leonhart's slender neck. Inhaling the sweet fragrance of silky brown hair, his eyes fluttered closed and his mind cleared. There was nothing wrong with living in the moment. He would save his introspective reflections for when he had nothing better to do. It was a sin to think of anything but the creature in his arms.

___

Together in Fisherman's Horizon, Squall and Seifer had spent their morning visiting with Raijin and Fujin. Fujin was bigger than ever, and Raijin could barely contain himself with anticipation. Eager to show off his honed cooking skills, Raijin insisted they stay for dinner. While Raijin was at the market buying groceries, Squall and Seifer lounged on the edge of a dock. Squall had never fished before, which Seifer happily rectified.

On such a clear day, the sun beat down strongly. It felt like summer compared to the mild spring back in Esthar. Squall was grateful for the constant salty breeze that swept in from shimmering waters. The wind rustled his hair and cooled his brow.

The piercing cries of seagulls faded to background, a sound as constant at the waves that washed against the dock's slimy wooden pillars below.

Glancing over at the patient blond, Squall wondered how such a hot-tempered man enjoyed fishing. They had been sitting in silence for nearly an hour, and not a single fish had bitten.

"Fishing out on a rig is more exciting," Seifer declared, breaking their long silence. "The waters can get rough near Trabia, so we leaned north as much as possible. Reeling a line in the middle of an ice storm is exhilarating."

Squall jostled his pole, wondering if there was a trick that he was missing.

"There aren't many fish in this spot," Seifer explained. He flashed a bright grin and pointed out to the horizon. "It just has the best view. You seem to like that sort of stuff."

Glancing away, Squall hid his embarrassment. Seifer was surprisingly considerate at times. The view was captivating and calming, which was exactly what he needed to help prepare his mind for the mission. Once his emotions were collected, he smiled softly in thanks. Setting his pole aside, he took a deep breath and relished the warm air.

"Do you have plans for tonight?"

Squall sighed quietly. Feet dangling over the edge, he squinted against the sun's rays. "Rest," he said.

"I'd like to spend more time with you before you go," Seifer said, masking his eagerness as demanding insistence.

Squall shared the ex-knight's longing. "I'm staying home with Lore." Seifer and Lore were incapable of agreeing on how he should spend his time before the mission. Saturday had been given to Seifer and Sunday was reserved for Lore. He hated having his time cut short with either of them.

Seifer knew there was no arguing the matter. Leonhart would spend his remaining hours in Esthar with the boy, which was a blow to his ego. He wasn't number one in Leonhart's life, not yet anyway. "It is possible to be near two people at once," he pointed out.

Brows furrowed, Squall said, "Only if you're at my place."

"Is that so bad?"

"I don't know," Squall replied. It was only bad if Seifer fought with Lore. There was also the matter of whether Seifer intended to spend the night.

Seifer tightened his hold on his fishing pole. He became determined to sleep over at Leonhart's place, no matter how much Lore might protest. "I'll sleep on the couch if the boy bitches."

Squall cast the blond a disparaging glance.

"Lore," Seifer corrected with a wry smirk. "If _Lore_ bitches." He waited a moment before adding, "which he always does." This earned him an icy glare, but Leonhart's wrath was not otherwise evoked.

Squall hid his contentment. Over the course of the next couple weeks, or quite possibly months, he believed his time away from home would give him a new perspective. He had every reason to believe that his feelings for Seifer were a fickle and fleeting whim. When he returned, he might not want Seifer the way he did now. Seifer might not want him. With the grim prospect of ending their relationship before it ever really began, he felt greedy for every moment left.

"It feels like a test," Seifer stated.

Surprised, Squall regarded the ex-knight curiously. There were moments when he suspected the man could read his mind.

"Will we feel the same, or will it be the biggest mistake either of us has ever made?" Seifer elaborated, naming off the possibilities like the rules of a board game.

Squall gave a small nod of agreement. He almost pitied Seifer for having to wait. Their doubts would only grow the longer they couldn't see each other. However, unlike Seifer, he wouldn't have to think about it. The mission would distract him. At night, he would be too exhausted to think.

Knowing he would spend every spare moment worrying about whether Leonhart's feelings had cooled off, or if Kinneas was making sure no one touched him, Seifer cursed his torturous prospects. "For the record, if you come back and suddenly want nothing to do with me, it won't stop me. I'll fucking chain you to my bed."

Squall couldn't help but smile softly. The ex-knight was incorrigible.

"You smile because you think I'm joking," Seifer muttered in warning.

Shaking his head, Squall regarded the ex-knight evenly. "It's because I know how serious you are," he informed. After a moment, he added, "I'd like to see you try."

Seconds from pouncing on the brunet and teaching the man a lesson, Seifer's fun was interrupted. Footsteps announced that they were no longer alone.

"Seifer," Raijin called out, "Why are you fishing here? It's like the only place there aren't any fish, ya know?"

"I'm just that talented," Seifer returned. He began reeling in his line. Leonhart followed his lead. Though he would have liked more time alone, he feared Leonhart's pale skin might burn if they stayed in the sun any longer.

Standing up, Seifer announced, "We should head back to Raijin's place."

As Squall stood, a strong hand braced his elbow and pulled him up. Shooting the ex-knight a warning glare, he shrugged his arm away and straightened. Jade-green eyes returned his narrow gaze defiantly. Not heeding his warning, the man set a hand at the small of his back and directed him to walk. He took an involuntary step forward, but remained stubbornly rooted after.

"Fussy as ever," Seifer commented.

Quirking a skeptical brow, Squall pointed out, "You'd have thrown a fit if I tried leading you."

"Let's not forget who the man is in this relationship," Seifer muttered. The ice that filled Leonhart's eyes told him he had gone too far.

Clenching his fists, Squall fought the urge to punch the blond. Managing to master his emotions, he chose to walk away.

Leonhart stormed off, leaving Seifer to conclude that even if they were having sex, their rivalry wasn't gone.

Raijin scratched the back of his head, glancing back and forth between the swordsmen. "What'd you say?" he questioned when Seifer came nearer.

"The wrong thing," Seifer answered.

"You never could keep your mouth shut, ya know?" Raijin jibed.

Regretting that any of his limited time with Leonhart would be wasted on their usual bickering, Seifer was tempted to chase after the man and win his favor back. With a gruff sigh, he resolved, "I'll let him cool down a bit."

"Is he still staying for dinner?"

Seifer rubbed his jaw and considered how angry he had made Leonhart. "Yeah. He's pissed, but not enough to take it out on you or Fujin. He'll just ignore me the whole time."

Raijin clapped the blond on the back. "This is why I don't think you make a good couple."

With a grin, Seifer declared, "This is why we make a great couple. All that anger of his translates into sex."

"I didn't need to know that, ya know?" Raijin complained before walking away.

Though he made light of the situation, Seifer knew he wouldn't be having any sex until he apologized. He had never apologized more than a handful of times in his life, and each of those apologies had involved Leonhart. He knew the brunet was sensitive about his gender being called into question. He should have bit his tongue, but it was easy to fall into the habit of exchanging sharp remarks.

__

Squall's alarm clock barely managed a single beep before it received a loud smack from a cursing blond swordsman. With an amused smile on his lips, Squall opened his eyes. The mattress shifted beside him as an agitated ex-knight settled back into place.

"You're up anyway," Seifer observed, turning onto his side to face the brunet.

Quirking a wry eyebrow, Squall silently pointed out that Seifer's attempt to silence the alarm had been louder than the alarm itself.

Seifer huffed in annoyance. "It's not too late to call Cid and tell him you're sick."

The corners of Squall's mouth twitched, threatening to smile again. Expression softening, he studied the blond's face. The room was dark, but they were only inches apart. Even if it had included a string of crude curses, he relished his a wake up call.

"You're sexy when you're happy," Seifer commented, grinning lewdly.

Scowling, Squall cast aside the blanket and started to sit up. As expected, strong arms grabbed him and pulled him back. "I have to get up," he said.

With his lips against Leonhart's ear, Seifer informed, "I've been up for hours." Slipping a knee between his rival's legs, he pressed his erection against a firm thigh.

Squall squirmed towards the edge of the mattress while he pushed at broad shoulders, but his half-hearted attempts to escape stopped when Seifer kissed him. Warm lips pressed insistently against his. Before the arrogant man slipped him tongue, he opened his mouth and asked for it.

Groaning a pleased note, Seifer commended Leonhart's cooperation by stabbing his tongue deep inside an eager mouth. Stroking against his rival's tongue, he pressed his body closer and rubbed his erection against the warm body beneath him.

Squall distantly feared he would be late for the briefing, and possibly deployment if Seifer decided to do more than kiss him.

Breaking away from slick lips, Seifer chuckled darkly. "I tampered with the alarm," he said proudly.

Squall cast a dubious glance to the radio clock on the nightstand. It read three o'clock. He didn't need to be up until four, which gave him an hour more with Seifer and an hour less of sleep. When Seifer's tongue found its way back inside his mouth, he realized he would be stifling yawns throughout the briefing.

The feel of clothing was restrictive to Seifer. Leonhart had refused to have sex even though it had been their last night together. Apparently having a son in the room across the hall was a major turn off, which meant he had to suffer in silence or sleep on the couch.

Shivering as a roughened hand slipped beneath his shirt, Squall knew he was in trouble. The man's expert touch flicked over his nipples, massaging them until he couldn't tell if the sensation were painful of pleasing. Lips released, he lay panting while the ex-knight nipped at his neck. He gasped Seifer's name.

Seifer broke away, sitting up while straddling Leonhart's body. Yanking the man's shirt up, he hiked it over messy brown hair and tossed it aside. Grabbing the back of his own shirt, he pulled it off and let it join Leonhart's.

"Seifer, no further," Squall objected.

"At this hour, they're sound asleep," Seifer assured. Lying flush against the writhing brunet, he enjoyed the feel of their skin touching. Coaxing compliance out of his rival, he began kissing the man's neck.

"Nnh," Squall intoned a moan captured behind clenched teeth. Fisting blond hair, he tugged demandingly. "Stop. Lore is across the hall."

"Then you'll just have to keep from screaming," Seifer teased.

"No," Squall refused. His resolve began to waver when Seifer attacked his neck again and drew the waist of his pants lower.

"They won't hear," Seifer argued, feeling himself edging closer to what he wanted. He was on the brink of acceptance. Though he knew the consequences could be a seriously pissed off brunet that left without so much as a goodbye kiss, he wanted to keep pushing for more. He had just spent the night in Leonhart's bedroom; a place the man had previously denied him access.

"Why do you do this?" Squall hissed.

Nipping a delicate chin, he replied innocently, "Do what?"

"Always push for more." Squall didn't know how much he had to give, but Seifer seemed intent on taking a mile whenever he gave an inch.

Seifer didn't have to think twice when giving an answer. "Because I want it all. Everything you have to give, I want it," he stated.

Squall pressed back against the pillow and gazed up into Seifer's eyes. "I'm not the only one with something to give," he said in a soft voice. The man might think of giving him a reprieve every once in a while.

Seifer felt a small tremor of delight course through him. "I'm yours," he lilted. Dipping down, he kissed Leonhart gently. Being gentle meant keeping a clear head and staying focused, which was why he so rarely expressed himself in a gentle manner. Putting forth an effort, he didn't demand entry or force reactions from Leonhart's body. He coaxed plush lips open with a gentle nip, and slid his tongue inside slowly and rhythmically. He massaged supple flesh while sweet moans told him what he was doing right.

Leonhart's undivided compliance surprised Seifer. Not for the first time, he uncovered the veteran fighter's weakness. The stubborn swordsman crumbled beneath a gentle hand.

Drawing the blanket higher, Seifer eased some of Leonhart's apprehension by covering their forms. Propped on his elbows, he hovered over the brunet and attacked a pale neck.

Squall arched back against the mattress. Spreading his legs wider, he rubbed against Seifer's solid weight.

Biting the shell of Leonhart's ear, Seifer said huskily, "Take off your pants."

Squall shifted awkwardly, lifting his hips and pushing his pants and boxers down until he freed a single leg. A surprised moan escaped him when the blond reached down and stroked his manhood. Clamping a hand over his mouth, he glared at the ex-knight.

Torturous in his ministrations, Seifer watched Leonhart writhe in pleasure. Stormy blue eyes were desperate to keep quiet. Taking pity, he tugged at the corner of the blanket and offered it as something to bite on. Leonhart shook his head, but as he pressed his fingers inside the man's tight hole, a clamped hand came loose and released a dangerously loud cry.

Before Squall could change his mind, not confident that he could keep quiet, Seifer stuffed his mouth with the blanket. He started to spit it out, but the ex-knight set a hand over it and met his eyes with a warning.

"I'm not stopping," Seifer declared. "If you don't want to wake anyone, use the blanket."

Eyes sharpening, Squall glared. Grabbing the blanket, he tore it from mouth and hissed, "I can manage." Determination filled his eyes.

Smirking at the underlying challenge, Seifer leaned in close and whispered, "Maybe if I go real slow and don't get too rough, it'll help."

Seifer set his own goal. If Leonhart was determined to keep quiet, then he was determined to be gentle until the very end.

Arms braced on either side of the pinned brunet, Seifer ghosted his lips across his rival's. He trailed the tip of his tongue along the crevice where pout lips met. Leonhart's mouth opened to invite him deeper, but he resolutely declined. Kissing a flushed cheek in apology, he trailed his lips down to a slender neck.

Squall writhed in agony and ecstasy. The places that Seifer kissed him were on fire and sent shivers through his body. Hips bucking, he rubbed himself against the ex-knight's abdomen. When the man shifted away, denying him something to rub against, he nearly whined at the loss.

Frustration mounting, Squall bit the inside of his cheek. Seifer was everywhere at once. Stretching fingers worked his entrance, while his nipples were painfully teased, and a playful mouth sucked at his beating pulse. Smothered in heat, he wanted to cry out and beg for release. Hips bucking against air, he found no relief for his throbbing manhood. The fingers inside him were careful to avoid the one place that could make him climax.

Clawing at the bedding, Squall fisted the sheets desperately. He needed to anchor himself to something before he went insane. Seifer placed fleeting touches all over his body, stimulating him without satisfaction. If he arched into a touch, it was gone the next moment.

Heart beating rapidly, Seifer began to doubt his ability to stay in control. The sight of Leonhart drowning in pleasure was too much. Stormy blues eyes gazed up at him from beneath long lashes, brimming with frustrated tears. There remained a hazy awareness in them, and he knew Leonhart would remain stubbornly silent.

Seifer removed his fingers from a clamping entrance and pushed the band of his boxers down to free his manhood. The angry red tip of his cock glistened with pearly white fluid. He was painfully hard.

Breaths increasing, Squall felt dizzy as Seifer nudged inside him.

"Shh," Seifer whispered, stroking the side of the panting brunet's face. The man was on the verge of hyperventilating. "Calm down," he soothed. Guiding his length slowly inside, he pushed until a clamping hole swallowed him completely. Buried in tight heat, he struggled to stay motionless.

Gently knocking their foreheads together, Seifer repeatedly whispered calming words. "It's okay. I'm inside you. Just calm down."

Suddenly exhausted, Squall felt his eyes drift shut. When Seifer began to move, pulling out and thrusting back inside him, he jolted awake. His teeth sunk into his lower lip, stifling a cry.

"Hold onto me," Seifer urged, wanting to feel Leonhart's body wrapped around him.

Squall shook his head, unable to release his hold on the sheets. Instead, he drew his legs up, spreading them wider. Hips gyrating, he met each of Seifer's thrusts, urgently impaling himself on the man's spearing organ. He could feel the tip of Seifer's cock penetrating deeper with each thrust.

Groaning, Seifer began thrusting harder and faster. He wanted to be gentle, but he simply couldn't. Being with Leonhart meant forfeiting control. His desires could not be managed.

Squall came without warning. Knuckles white, his body became taut and arched off the bed. A hand stroked him, drawing out each jerk his spurting organ gave. Teeth finally releasing his abused lip, he gasped silently, nothing more than a sharp intake of breath. Before he could relax back against the bed, Seifer's arms wrapped around him and pulled him upright. Mounted in Seifer's lap, he could feel a throbbing cock as it jerked inside him, filling him with seed.

Wrapping his arms around the blond's neck, Squall hugged the man close. Breaths mingling, they continued to rock against each other. Seifer kept thrusting even after he was spent, trying in vain to draw the moment out.

Slowly unwinding, they eventually relaxed in each other's embrace. Seifer lowered Leonhart to the bed, still pressed close to prolong their connection. When a hesitant hand nudged his shoulder, he knew their time was up.

Kissing Leonhart's warm temple, Seifer withdrew his flaccid length. Bent knees hugged his hips, as if telling him not to leave so soon. Regretting the loss, he claimed plush lips in consolation.

Squall urgently met Seifer's lips, trying to fill the void left behind. There was a cold moment of emptiness whenever the ex-knight was gone from inside his body. As if to affirm this coldness, a chilled shiver overcame him.

"Cold?" Seifer murmured. Settling in beside the smaller swordsman, he adjusted the blanket over their forms.

Squall sighed and sat up. Peering over the blond's form, he found that it was nearly four o'clock.

"Fuck," Seifer muttered bitterly, wishing he had set the alarm two hours ahead instead of one. Regaining his composure, he flashed Leonhart his business smile. "You know, I think the clock might be busted from when I hit it. What we just did couldn't have been more than a half-hour."

Squall simply shook his head. Seifer was just like Lore. As a boy, Lore had frequently sabotaged his alarm, setting it later in the hopes that being late would mean he had to cancel his mission. Smiling softly in remembrance, he said, "Lore once reset all the clocks in the house."

Appearing surprised, Seifer muttered, "The kid's smarter than he looks."

Rolling his eyes, Squall added, "He did that when he was seven. What's your excuse?"

With a grin, Seifer leaned in and stole a kiss. In a husky voice, he informed, "I don't need one. I'm fucking adorable no matter how old I am."

Squall set his hands on Seifer's face and stroked his fingertips over a stubble-ridden jaw. He gazed for a moment into glinting green eyes. Setting a gentle kiss to the man's lips, he only lingered long enough to convey his regret at having to leave.

"I know," Seifer grumbled. Running a hand along the side of Leonhart's face, he said, "You need to get ready."

Squall nodded.

"Are you taking a shower?"

Hesitating for a moment, Squall nodded again. Sensing that Seifer was about to remove the hand at his cheek, he clasped it and leaned into the warm palm. After satisfying his selfish desire for the man's touch, he released his hold and turned away.

Daring to believe that Leonhart was becoming touch-hungry, Seifer's groin throbbed pleasantly. "I'll join you," he declared. He would never pass up the opportunity to shower with his rival. Every gasp and moan reverberated off the tiled walls, and steamy air made the brunet's pale skin flush from the heat.

Not bothering to dissuade the blond, Squall slipped from the bed and made his way to the bathroom. He was no longer opposed to having more sex.

__

Shrugging into his worn bomber jacket, Squall prepared to leave. Seifer and Lore were in the kitchen, sulking over his refusal to let them see him off at the train station. He was mildly embarrassed by the fuss everyone was making, but he supposed the competition Seifer and Lore had with each other dramatized matters.

"Do you have everything?" Laguna asked.

Squall glanced at his duffel bag and the gunblade case propped against the entryway wall. With a nod, he assured that he had everything. Glancing at his watch, he murmured, "I should go."

Laguna cast a cautious glance to the kitchen. "Should I get them?" he asked.

Sighing, Squall shook his head. Lore and Seifer were only pretending to ignore him. Their ears were no doubt strained to hear everything he said. "Just tell them I said goodbye," he told his father. Laguna appeared shocked, not believing that he intended to leave without hugging Lore.

Squall had no intention of leaving so hastily, but he wasn't going to coddle a pair of sulking brats. Chairs scrapped against the kitchen floor, followed by thudding feet rushing to reach the living room.

"Wait!" Lore called out.

"Dammit Leonhart!" Seifer followed, glaring from across the room.

Lore rushed forward and hugged his father. "I don't see why I can't drive with you to the station."

"I'll be back soon," Squall responded, leaving no room for argument.

Seifer scoffed. 'Soon' meant a couple hours. Leonhart wouldn't be back for at least two weeks.

"Be careful," Lore urged.

Tousling raven hair, Squall promised, "Always."

With a final squeeze, Lore stepped back. He glanced over his shoulder and glowered at Seifer, but stepped back to let the man have a moment.

Seifer took the boy's grudging retreat as his cue. Setting a hand on Leonhart's shoulder, he directed the man into the entryway for a private word. "What's Cid's policy on conjugal visits?" he asked.

Confused for a moment, Squall couldn't tell if Seifer was joking or not. With a shrug, he replied, "No tolerance."

Hand squeezing a bony shoulder, Seifer declared, "I'm not liking the idea of you surrounded by a bunch of horny teenagers." He had made his feelings on the matter clear from the start, but he wanted to urge caution once again.

Frowning, Squall corrected, "They're older than that."

"Even worse," Seifer stated. "They might realize your hidden potential in bed." Earning a glare for his comment, he shook his head and tried to find a better focus. "For once, I'm not trying to be offensive. I'm serious, Leonhart."

Squall's expression sobered. "What would you have me do?" he asked. He was at a loss for how to appease anyone in this situation. He couldn't call off the mission, nor did he want to.

Seifer pulled Leonhart into his arms. "Promise me you'll take measures."

"Measures?"

Tightening his hold, Seifer listed off his top few concerns. "Sleep alone and inside a tent, where no one can see. Don't let anyone see you without your clothes on. If there's an opportunity to bathe, don't take it. You don't need to smell good."

"Seifer, stop," Squall interrupted.

"I'm serious," Seifer reaffirmed. "Even if I can't convince you to do any of it, don't dismiss that I want you to."

"…" Squall pushed away. Studying somber green eyes, he understood that Seifer was serious. Crossing his arms, he shifted his weight and scowled at the floor, silently signaling that he was listening.

Seifer tried to impress some level of self-awareness into the man. "You have no idea how hot you are," he informed. He had an extremely biased view, but if he thought back to when he hadn't been turned on by the man, he had always been aware that Leonhart was attractive in an effeminate sort of way. "Don't go gathering firewood and bending over for each twig you find. You're oblivious like that."

Squall sent Seifer an icy glare. He was perfectly capable of taking care of himself.

Not deterred by the ice in grey-blue eyes, Seifer continued, "Don't daydream about me in front of them. You get this glossy eyed look and your cheeks get flushed. It'll make them excited."

"I do not-" Squall began to protest, but Seifer cut him off.

"Baby, you're sexy when you scowl. What do you think you look like the rest of the time?"

Scowling reflexively, Squall tried to mask his embarrassment by turning the tables. "What about you?" he queried.

"What about me?"

"…" Squall's eyes were invariably drawn to the exposed hollow of Seifer's neckline. Realizing what he was about to request, he forced his eyes elsewhere and berated himself.

Quickly catching on, Seifer chuckled.

"Never mind," Squall muttered, regretting that he had spoken up.

Seifer fastened the top button of his shirt. "I only wear it like this because I know it turns you on," he said. "But just in case it comes undone, I'll wear a tie."

Brows furrowing in annoyance, Squall offered an indifferent, "Whatever."

Seifer needed more of a reaction out of his rival. "I'll be sure to keep pepper spray in my man-purse. I won't walk home alone at night. I'll avoid dark alleys and strangers that proposition me with candy, and I won't-"

Cheeks flushing, Squall felt mortified. He resented being made fun of for a brief lapse in character. "Asshole," he hissed, turning on foot and stooping to grab his duffel bag.

Demeanor sobering, Seifer grabbed the brunet's arm and gripped it tightly. "Leonhart," he said sternly. He waited for the swordsman to look at him. When the man stood straight, letting the bag's strap fall, stormy blue eyes were carefully guarded. At the worst possible moment, Leonhart had retreated where he couldn't follow. "I didn't mean it like that. I meant that you can trust me. I'm not going to be picking up girls in a bar just because I'm unbearably horny."

Squall's expression remained even. "Can't you trust me?" he returned.

"I trust that you would never intentionally invite trouble. I'm not saying this to be mean, but you can be oblivious when it comes to reading emotions."

"…"

Sighing in exasperation, Seifer was forced to rub salt in the pretty-boy's wound. "How long was Bernhein in love with you before you even noticed?"

Guilt and remorse flashed through Squall's eyes. His lips pressed tightly together, holding back an instinctive denial. Though he knew that no one was perfect, especially himself, he didn't like feeling completely inept. Knowing that he was somewhat incompetent when it came to relationships, he couldn't defend against Seifer's insinuation.

"I'm sure you could beat up anyone who tried something on you, but it's more efficient if you take certain precautions that deter anyone from even considering you in that way."

There was a sound logic to the ex-knight's argument, but Squall preferred to think better of his teammates.

"Just promise me you'll think about what I'm saying," Seifer pressed.

Remaining thoughtful for several moments, Squall eventually gave a bare nod of agreement.

"One more thing," Seifer announced.

Before Squall could pinch the bridge of his nose, he was yanked forward. Colliding with Seifer's solid chest, warm lips were at his neck. He pushed back, but gained little distance. "Seifer," he hissed. He wanted to glance over his shoulder to see if Lore and Laguna were watching, but he decided it was less embarrassing if he didn't know.

Seifer sucked hard at pale skin, marking a point just beneath Leonhart's jaw line. Even after the task was finished, he lingered until the body in his arms trembled.

When Seifer finally broke away, Squall set a hand at his neck and glared.

"You're not allowed to get rid of it," Seifer ordered. Leonhart's eyes only grew more defiant. "If you're hurt, you can take a potion, but don't do anything just for the sake of getting rid of it." Grinning, he set an index finger at his own throat and inclined his head back. "You're more than welcome to return the favor."

Glaring coolly, Squall stormed away from the overbearing man. Lore and Laguna were no longer in the living room. He found the two in the kitchen. Approaching his father, he hugged him.

Laguna's arms were still hesitant in embracing Squall, afraid that expressing too much affection would push him away. Unable to hold back, he squeezed tight. "There's no shame in running away from a fight if it means saving your own life," he declared. With a kiss to Squall's forehead, he stepped back and wiped at watery eyes.

"Stay safe," Lore said as he hugged his father one last time.

Squall set a quick peck to Lore's hair and murmured, "I'll be back before you know it."

Seifer waited in the kitchen's doorframe, but Leonhart brushed past him. He followed closely, confident the man wouldn't leave while still angry with him.

Slinging his duffel bag and gunblade case over his shoulder, Squall walked to the door and pressed the release. He hesitated a moment before stepping out into the hall, but forced himself forward.

Seifer stared in disbelief as the door hissed shut. "Fuck me," he murmured in wonder, having been certain Leonhart would rise above it all and forgive him for his antics. Expression growing hard, he glared at the door. Starting forward, he rushed to follow.

Squall leaned casually against the wall outside the apartment door. When Seifer's form nearly ran past him, he had to suppress his smile.

"You little shit," Seifer accused, reading the amusement in sparkling grey-blue eyes. Stalking closer, he towered over the brunet.

Quirking a challenging brow, Squall gazed up beneath dark lashes. Reaching out, he grabbed the front of Seifer's shirt and pulled the man down. Pressing his lips to a warm neck, he tentatively opened his mouth and nipped.

Setting a bracing hand against the wall, Seifer groaned. A devilish mouth sucked at his pulse. It was over too quickly, the erotic feel of soft lips suddenly gone.

Releasing his hold, Squall drew away from the ex-knight's neck and observed his work. A bright red mark stood out against tanned skin like a bruise. A faint blush tinged his cheeks at his own brashness, but he preferred to consider it revenge.

Demandingly, Seifer stooped and captured Leonhart's mouth. Crushing plush lips, he grasped the back of the brunet's neck to prevent a retreat. Plunging his tongue inside, he tasted Leonhart's sweet flavor.

As Squall curled his tongue around Seifer's, he nearly lost his grip on his baggage. The perceptive blond helped keep it in place.

Swallowing succulent moans, Seifer delved deeper, roving every recess of his rival's mouth. He was too lost in the sensation to care that their breaths were growing ragged.

Squall broke away when he felt the press of Seifer's knee between his legs.

"Let me take you to the station," Seifer urged.

Shaking his head, Squall said, "It's easier to just leave it here."

"It's not easy to leave it anywhere," Seifer refuted. Grasping Leonhart's chin, he claimed another kiss.

Swept away again, Squall was drawn into the kiss. He ran his fingers through Seifer's hair, trying to memorize the silky texture.

The minutes ticked by, and neither of them could cease their frenzied clashing of lips. Seifer had accidentally drawn blood when nipping Leonhart's lower lip, but he refused to stop.

Finally, when lightheadedness demanded they separate, the two rivals broke apart. Panting, Squall wiped his lips with the back of his hand. Seifer's eyes were filled with lust.

"Bye," Squall said, almost too quiet to hear. Hitching his luggage up, he turned away.

"Wait," Seifer called. "If something happens, if I need to contact you, can Cid make it happen?"

Squall made the mistake of glancing back. When his eyes met Seifer's, his body moved of its own accord. Walking up to the blond, he rose to the balls of his feet and kissed the man again. He managed to force himself back, keeping the kiss gentle and fleeting. "Lore knows the process," he said.

Seifer nodded. Watching Leonhart walk towards the elevator, he fought to stay in one place. "One more thing," he called out.

Squall waited until he was in the elevator to face the blond. Holding the doors open with the button, he waited to hear more.

"Say my name," Seifer requested.

Squall felt his indifferent mask slip. Wanting to ask why, the blond told him before he had to.

With a grin, Seifer declared, "My name should be the last one out of your mouth before you go, not your son's."

Scowling, Squall released the door's button.

Seifer watched intently as the doors slid close. Even if he couldn't hear it, he clearly saw Leonhart's lips form his name.

__

As Squall briefed the team on the mission's parameters, his eyes kept straying to Irvine. The gunman had slipped in at the last possible second, preventing him from questioning why the man was there.

When the briefing was over, Squall approached Irvine with curiosity in his eyes.

Irvine grinned. "You're wondering why I'm here," he ventured.

Crossing his arms, Squall waited for the explanation.

"I'll tell you the day before we head home. If I tell you now, your anger might cool off before the sparks have a chance to fly." Irvine was determined to turn this mission around on the ex-knight. He wasn't trying to break the two swordsmen up, but he certainly wasn't doing Seifer any favors for free.

Crossing his arms, Squall studied the gunman. "Did Cid ask you to come?" he asked quietly, not wanting his voice to echo in the hanger.

"No, this is something of a personal choice," Irvine drawled. "Just consider me as friendly company."

Squall's attention was distracted when the airship's pilot approached.

"We're ready, sir," the pilot announced.

"Okay," Squall confirmed. Too preoccupied to waste time on figuring out why Irvine was there, he concluded that the appeal of an adventure had called out to the gunman.

"Whatever," Squall muttered while studying the gunman's violet-blue eyes. Moving past the man, he headed towards the airship's ramp.

Irvine caught a glimpse of Squall's neck. There was a bandage. Unable to suppress his curiosity, he questioned, "What's with the injury?" It was protocol to consume a potion before all missions.

Hand darting to his neck, Squall glared at the floor. "It's nothing," he muttered dismissively.

"You're stocked with potions, right?"

Turning his glare on the gunman, Squall resented the question. Of course he had potions. As leader, he was fully prepared.

"You don't want to waste it on something minor?" Irvine guessed.

"No, it's nothing," Squall reiterated.

Irvine sidled up to the agitated brunet. Raising a dexterous hand, he snatched at the bandage. When Squall jerked away, it came off.

Hand clamped over his neck, Squall glared with venom. "Irvine," he hissed. He had half a mind to assign the sharpshooter to baggage detail for such a stunt, but he couldn't issue an order out of personal annoyance.

Swallowing his laughter, Irvine questioned, "Is that a hickey?" Surmising what had happened, he continued, "Seifer marked you and made you promise not to take a potion just to get rid of it."

Grabbing the bandage from his friend, Squall reset it without a word.

As Squall walked away, Irvine called after him, "I can't believe you agreed to that."

Squall's only response was a sullen, "Whatever."

There were fifteen members in total, seventeen including Squall and Irvine. When Squall entered the flight deck, the group's excited chatter came to a screeching halt. Anyone who wasn't seated straight corrected their form. Heads shot to the front and the atmosphere suddenly became heavy.

"At ease," Squall directed, walking down the narrow aisle to the control panel. Turning around, the wide windshield at his back, he regarded everyone. With a small frown, he noted the absence of a single body. Running through the checklist in his head, he queried, "Where's Dannis?"

Squall had not been pleased to accept Miles Dannis onto his team. Cid had vouched for the boy, assuring that despite disciplinary issues, the recent graduate was a promising soldier. Dannis was the youngest recruit, and at eighteen acted with the ego of an experienced veteran.

No one breathed. A few eyes flicked to the small doorway when Irvine strolled in.

"Who died?" Irvine wondered aloud.

Crossing his arms, Squall gave Irvine a tightlipped look. Irvine promptly took his seat and removed his hat.

Squall checked his watch. It was almost time to liftoff.

"Sir," a young man with many freckles began, "Dannis was with us during the equipment check."

Squall rifled through his files to find the inventory log. Before he could confirm whether Dannis had indeed signed his equipment in, running footfalls approached.

A burly form ducked through the doorway. Dannis resembled Raijin build, but had a somber countenance that never betrayed what he truly thought. Spiky red hair stood like a flame and piercing grey eyes met Squall's defiantly.

Dannis paused for a moment, scouring the area before proceeding at a slow pace down the aisle. Approaching the commander, he neglected to salute and waited with an air of impatience for Squall to speak.

Forced to incline his head to meet the towering redhead's gaze, Squall's expression remained unchanged.

In the back, Irvine sat on the edge of his sit, his hand gripping the back of the chair in front of him. He was moments away from drawing his gun and forcing the brash soldier into submission.

"Sir," Dannis said after the commander's silence didn't break.

It suddenly struck Squall that Dannis reminded him of Seifer. An amused smile threatened to soften the straight line his lips were set in.

Swearing he saw laughter in steely blue eyes, Dannis lifted his proud jaw higher.

"Sit," Squall directed.

Making slow work of it, Dannis took a seat in the front row, a place usually reserved for officers.

Squall was torn on how to handle Dannis. The young man was clearly testing his bounds, seeing how far he could push before being forced back in line. Quistis would have kicked him off the ship already.

For the most part, Squall was immune to cocky displays of self-importance. He didn't need to assert his own authority over such petty displays, but there was always the danger that small acts of defiance could lead to a serious act of insubordination. Furthermore, others were likely to copy Dannis.

Approaching the pilot's seat, Squall gave the order to liftoff. Turning to face his team, he directed, "Strap in." He took his own seat two places away from Dannis. It would be a two-hour flight. Preferring to review the mission files, he quickly resolved that Dannis wasn't worth his consideration. If trouble arose, he would deal with it. Until then, there were too many ifs and maybes to waste time fretting over.

Leaning over a bit, Dannis queried, "Are you wearing perfume, commander?" There was laughter in his voice, but he had sense enough to only speak loud enough for Squall to hear, his voice silenced from everyone else by the sound of the roaring engines.

With a sigh, Squall pinched the bridge of his nose. The boy definitely resembled Seifer in personality.

TBC…

Author's note:

I'm so happy to finally update! This chapter has been in indecision limbo for so long. It seems that the longer I take in writing, the more time I have to change my mind and re-write everything. Things were definitely jumpy in this chapter, since I kept cutting and chopping scenes. It's a little sparse, filled with mostly dialogue, so some edits might come along to spruce it up. It's also kind of a slow going chapter that spends way too much time getting to the point where Squall finally leaves (I swear I'm not trying to be self-pitying with this). There was a little intrigue in the end, which leaves me eager to get working on the next chapter.

Despite its flaws, it's full of SeiferxSquall goodness, so I hope you enjoyed it.

My eyes are not fresh, so I apologize for any grammar issues and typos. If there's a really bad error, please let me know. Otherwise, I'll get around to polishing it later.

Thank you all so much for the reviews. I know some of you were getting a little impatient for an update, so double thanks for waiting and still reviewing. I received some really good constructive criticism, which I always appreciate, so thanks for that too.

Happy Easter to those of you who celebrate it. I happily colored eggs and can't wait to see my new niece all dressed up ^_^


	43. Chapter 43

Defining Love

Chapter Forty-Three

Work became drudgery when Seifer had nothing to look forward to in the evening. The day crept along at a snail's pace with an unending flow of paperwork. Following the training center's official opening, there had been a flood of clients, most of which were amateur fighters trying to prove their worth. The gyms buzzed with activity and his secretary no longer had to occupy herself by making paper airplanes.

It was Seifer's fortune that work occupied his time, distracting him from his dissatisfying personal life. If he hadn't reviewed inventory files and met with investors, he might have gone insane. Even with work to occupy his mind, thoughts of Leonhart affected his mood. He cursed every little annoyance. When the stapler jammed, he nearly chucked it through his office window, only managing to stop himself because his secretary came in. When he thought he had lost a permit license for the arena's first battle, he rattled off every single swear word he knew until he found the permit stuck to back of another piece of paper.

By the end of the workday, Seifer suspected his secretary was going to turn in her resignation. Leonhart had chosen a hell of a time to abscond to some remote island. Though he could force himself to concentrate on work, his mood became darker by the hour.

Part of him was jealous. The management of his fledgling business needed close monitoring, which meant he was stuck behind a desk until the training center had a firm base. Traipsing through a jungle and finding a fight around every corner was highly enticing, but his envy was abated when he considered how troublesome it was to bow to Garden's authority.

The life of SeeD had never agreed with him, yet it had been the only available means of becoming a fighter. While peace reigned, military organizations like Garden declined. Galbadia Garden had become a boarding school for truant trust fund children.

The art of fighting and the mastery of specialized weaponry would soon die out. His training center provided an independent means to becoming a fighter. Tickets for the first battle had already sold out. While such fights could not compare to real combat, where one's life was never guaranteed, they wouldn't be dictated by supply and demand quotas for soldiers.

Seifer admitted that his motives for the training center were also quite selfish. A life of leisure on the open sea had denied him the thrill of battle. A training center allowed him the chance to practice and search for fighters skilled enough to pose a challenge.

Standing from his desk, he paced to the window. His thoughts turned to Leonhart, who was the only fighter he acknowledged as his rival.

For years, he hadn't spared a stray thought to Leonhart. He hadn't realized how much he missed sparring with the man. Over the past few months, he had grown accustom to Leonhart's accessibility. Now he wondered how he had managed to live without their rivalry.

With a smirk, Seifer concluded that sparring fell under the same category as sex. He couldn't imagine a time when the prospect of tearing Leonhart's clothes off hadn't appealed to him. Now it was all he thought about, all he longed for.

A single day wasn't a long time when it was the first of many. He had no idea how long Leonhart would be gone. Part of him hoped that this time apart would quell his desires, but he didn't want the attraction to disappear altogether.

Seifer procrastinated the moment when he would return home to an empty apartment. Remaining at his office window, he watched the sun set on the horizon. With a sigh, he considered the danger involved in becoming too attached to Leonhart. He had sensed from the very beginning that it wasn't a good idea. After sleeping with Leonhart, he had developed strange feelings.

He had grown extremely fond of the sultry brunet. When he considered it, he felt more than fondness. The profession he had made on accident seemed an apt description of what he felt. He needed Leonhart. Whether it was their rivalry or sex, he had a demanding need that only Leonhart could satisfy.

There was an unexpected knock at his office door. Thinking his secretary must have put a rush on her resignation, Seifer told her to come in.

"Hey," a familiar voice called from the doorway.

Seifer turned from the window. Seeing the raven-haired youth across the room, he stared with evident surprise. "What is it you think I've done this time?" he questioned.

Scowling, Lore muttered, "Nothing."

Seifer waited for an explanation.

"I thought I'd come by," Lore said, appearing almost as surprised by his being there as Seifer did. "I mean, it's the first day, which is usually the hardest. I thought I'd come and see if you'd already cheated on my dad."

Scoffing, Seifer didn't bother pointing out how transparent the kid's excuse was. Judging from the agitated crease in the boy's brow, he wasn't the only one in a foul mood. He took the unexpected interruption as a welcome distraction. "Since you're here," he lilted, a sinister gleam in his eyes, "how about a spar?"

Lore stared intently at the blond, wondering what angle the man was trying to work. Having thought about his father all day, he had hoped to find the ex-knight in a worse state than himself and rejoice in the man's misery. If he were perfectly honest, he would admit that he had crafted a weak excuse in order to satisfy his desire to see Seifer. With his father and Uncle Irvine gone, he would have normally spent his time with his grandfather, but Laguna was a busy man and didn't need to entertain a morose grandson. Though he had any number of friends he could stay with, none of them understood the detachment and worry he felt when his father was on a mission.

Despite his assertions, Lore had begun to suspect that Seifer liked his father a great deal more than he had previously believed. The ex-knight was arrogant and acted as though he only wanted sex, but the man had looked liked an abandoned dog after his dad had left that morning.

With a shrug, Lore mumbled, "Sure." Seifer didn't appear upset, but when he had first walked in, he had sensed a subdued and frustrated aura around him.

--

Divided into groups of three, the team of seventeen waded through a sea of plants. They spread out to cover more ground, one group drawing a line on the right, one in the middle, and the third a few miles to the left. Though island was overrun with plants, but it was not as dense as anticipated. By mid-day, they had already reached their mark. Squall was eager to press forward, but decided not to push too hard on their first day.

The monsters they had encountered were low level, but there were a few higher-level creatures that had attacked the deeper they went. Squall suspected that the levels and aggression of the monsters would only increase the farther they progressed.

Irvine's third of the team was the last to join the campsite. The gunman handed over a map that charted the location of a wide stream.

As tents were set up, Irvine sidled up to the commander for a private word.

"I came to keep you company, not to act as second in command," Irvine said. Imagine his surprise when Squall assigned him as a point man for one of the three lines edging into the jungle. He had expected to trail close behind his laconic buddy while making small talk, but had instead spent the better part of the day completely cut off from the man.

Squall quirked an eyebrow and met violet-blue eyes with a sardonic gaze. The man was the second highest ranked SeeD on the team. Everyone had to carry their own weight. It wasn't a vacation. Though Irvine had not been an initial asset, the gunman had more experience than anyone else under his command, which meant being a key figure in the operation.

Irvine clucked his tongue. "You realize that I'm taking the heat for this. That kid, Dannis, is pretty sore about the demotion."

Squall considered this for a moment. "He'll lead tomorrow," he compromised. Dannis was young and inexperienced, but Cid had requested he give trials that would force the boy into leadership positions. With Irvine in charge of part of the group, he had been able to worry less and concentrate on his surroundings. If Dannis suffered a bruised ego, that wasn't his problem.

With a shrug, Squall dismissed Irvine's concern and focused on clearing brush.

--

On their third day, Squall became concerned when it hadn't rained. Their water provisions were low. They had anticipated the usual tropical weather that hounded Centra with rain showers nearly every afternoon.

Squall decided to camp early, willing to lose a few miles when they were already ahead of schedule. The group was thirsty and tired. Wanting to know more about the stream Irvine's group had found, he detailed several men to determine whether the water was drinkable. The streams that trickled down from the snowcaps on Balamb's mountain ridge was poisoned by the eggs that Fin fish laid. He had seen a type of fish similar to Fin along the beach, but hoped they weren't the fresh water variety.

While one group searched for water, Squall and Irvine scrounged for wood. They had the luck of finding a fallen tree. Unlike to moister twigs and branches that littered the ground, this tree would provide a drier, less smoky fire. The last two nights, the fires had left them with tears in their eyes and the smell of burned wood in their hair and clothes.

As they hacked thick branches from the trunk, Irvine commented, "I'm surprised you haven't asked why I'm here."

Wiping his brow, Squall paused in his work for a moment and regarded the gunman on the other side of the trunk. "You said not to ask."

Irvine laughed. Unable to keep working, he drove his hatchet into the trunk with a swift swing and left it wedged in place. Removing his hat, he fanned his face and leaned against another nearby tree. "Hyne, you're about the only person alive who wouldn't actually ask. Selphie would say that if someone tells you not to ask something, what they really want is for you to snoop and pry until you figure it out anyway."

With a shrug, Squall remarked, "I have figured it out." Not bothering to elaborate, he set to work again, breaking away a thick branch.

"You're serious," Irvine said, studying the brunet. Stormy blue eyes met his for a moment, reminding him that Squall was always serious. "Then why did I come?" he challenged, wondering what the other had come up with.

Sighing, Squall tossed his branch to a larger pile nearby. Stowing his hatchet in his belt holster, he motioned for Irvine to follow. They each had an armful and could talk as they returned to camp.

"Well?" Irvine prompted when Squall hadn't spoken. They had a mile to cover, which gave him ten minutes to pry a response from the reticent swordsman.

Squall listened intently for a moment, judging that they were relatively safe. The larger monsters made quite a noise and could be heard miles away. There were hoards of birds in the canopy, and their continued chatter assured that there was no immediate threat nearby. "Seifer asked you to come," he finally said.

More than a little surprised, Irvine took a clumsy step and several crudely cut pieces of firewood tumbled from his hold. As he crouched to pick them up, asked, "What makes you think that?"

Appearing indifferent to both the question and his friend's plight, Squall replied, "It's the truth."

Hesitating, Irvine remained occupied with balancing his load of wood. When he stood, he tried to read Squall's expression, but found that delicate features were too impassive to read. "Are you pissed?"

"…" Squall didn't respond. He had been angry at first, just as upset with Irvine as he was with Seifer, but his anger had passed.

"He practically begged me," Irvine said, a small smirk playing across his lips.

Rolling his eyes, Squall moved forward. Given the recent call to arms that Irvine and Lore had answered to fend off Seifer, he had grown accustomed to his family's overbearing ways. Irvine and Lore had always been overprotective, but the recent expansion in his life that made room for Cale and now Seifer had driven his self-appointed guardians into a red alert.

In most respects, Squall found such behavior ridiculous, but he didn't have the heart to resent them for it. Squall had his suspicions about where their protective streaks originated. Before he could delve further into the matter, Irvine spoke again and drew him away from his thoughts.

Finding the commander's calm response unsatisfying, Irvine tried to remind the man that Seifer was meddling in the swordsman's life. He neglected to implicate himself in the same scheme that made the ex-knight a bad guy. "He's the same overbearing, selfish asshole he was when he was eighteen. He's like a boy that never grows up. He's treating you like a toy."

Squall scowled. It seemed rather hypocritical of Irvine to cast judgment on Seifer when the gunman barely knew the ex-knight, not to mention they were in cahoots together. He supposed it wasn't easy to see beneath the Seifer's flashy exterior. It might have been easier for others to simply assume the bullying blond was shallow and hadn't changed over the years.

Irvine was past trying to convince Squall that Seifer was an ill-suited partner, but a reminder of the man's faults might knock some sense into the commander, especially when there was enough distance between the two rivals that hormones couldn't override commonsense. "He's thirty-five and suddenly decided to uproot his life and start a business. That's classic bachelor behavior. He'll abandon everything on a whim."

"I admire him," Squall said quietly. At Irvine's shocked stare, he added, "He never settles for less. If he wants to do something, he makes it happen."

"Except that he wants to do everything and doesn't care who he hurts in the process."

"Seifer doesn't hurt people," Squall refuted. "He's more considerate than you think."

"Was he considerate when he forced himself into your life?"

"…" Squall shrugged. The ex-knight had been as considerate as anyone could have been under the strain of strange and compelling emotions. He didn't know how to explain to Irvine that it was necessary to read between the lines with Seifer. The man was upfront and blunt, but so much of what he did was for show. It was a defense mechanism. Growing up, it had been necessary to develop a tough outer shell.

Squall had chosen to close himself off to the world, whereas Seifer had became abrasive and warded off anyone who wasn't willing to be a true friend and stick around despite his antics. If Seifer became more selfish towards someone, such as demanding them to say his name instead of their own son's, it was because the ex-knight was testing them. Seifer needed to know that Squall wouldn't become fed up and leave, like so many people had when they were children.

Even Irvine had his own type of defense. Being a sharpshooter meant not needing to rely on a team for missions. Irvine didn't have to repeatedly socialize and learn to trust his teammates, since he usually had none. When it came to missions, Squall was more of a social butterfly than Irvine would ever be.

It saddened Squall to know that Irvine didn't understand Seifer's nature. He thought the gunman might have some insight considering they had all grown up together. Each of them had developed their particular quirks for similar reasons. Seifer hadn't been born abrasive. Life had made him that way, into someone who continually tested the patience of others.

Squall recalled their time in bed right before he had left. He had asked why Seifer always pushed for more, but he already knew the answer. Seifer needed to know how much he was willing to give. Squall's chest ached in remembrance. He was glad to have passed the man's test, but he wondered how much Seifer would make him give before being satisfied that he wasn't going to become fed up.

Doubting he could ever convince Irvine of the truth, Squall simply sighed. None of them were invulnerable, no matter what they said or how they acted. They could all be hurt, and they all took measures to prevent that. Seifer was perhaps the most vulnerable, simply because no one believed that his actions resonated any deeper than his flashy exterior. Gold was a soft metal, and that was what Seifer chose to shield himself with. Words and actions could cut through, it was just a matter of knowing where to strike.

"I want him in my life," Squall said firmly, cutting off any further argument on the matter.

"What can you possibly see in him?" Irvine muttered, more to himself than Squall. Selphie would have scolded him by now, telling him to give the subject a rest and mind his own business. Yet, his past observations of the ex-knight's cruel and selfish behavior left him with the anxious certainty that Squall would be hurt. The rivals might last as a couple for a little while, but the novelty Seifer felt in having sex with a man would eventually wear off. Seifer would see his conquest as complete and lose interest, at which point Squall might close himself off to the world entirely.

Irvine had walked several paces before he realized that Squall had stopped. Glancing back, he found the commander gazing upwards, intent on something in the distance.

"Do you see that?" Squall asked, an edge of urgency in his voice.

"Where?" Irvine let his pile of wood clatter to the ground and moved next to the brunet. Tilting his head back, his sharp eyes scanned through the dense canopy. He nearly missed it, but spotted the falling spit of fire from a flare gun. Mildly surprised that Squall had seen the signal, he commented, "It looks about six miles east of us."

"Hurry, and don't leave the wood," Squall said, before starting forward at a sprint and disappearing through the trees.

"Hey!" Irvine called after him. There was no deterring Squall when he switched into fight mode. He could only scramble to retrieve his branches of wood and run after the man.

When Irvine made it back to camp, Squall had already organized a party to head east. The flare was a distress signal from the group that had gone out to explore the stream.

Dropping his armload, Irvine took a moment to catch his breath. Squall looked as though he had strolled back at a leisurely pace instead of sprinting a mile with an added fifty pounds of wood.

Ready to leave, Squall approached Irvine for a private word. "Four men come with me, the rest of you stay here."

"You mean the rest of _them_, darlin'. I'm coming with you," Irvine corrected.

Steely blue irises pinned the gunman in place. "No," Squall said.

"The only reason I'm here is to watch your back."

Expression sharpening, Squall cast a surveying glance around the group of mercenaries. Even among the older ones, there was a look of uncertainty and concern. The third highest ranked SeeD had been among the five men at the stream, and he was a man unlikely to send up a distress signal unless the circumstances were dire.

"I can watch my own back," Squall stated. "I need you to watch theirs."

Irvine stubbornly persisted, even though he knew Squall could not be budged. "Squall," he began, but a severe look from the commander silenced him.

"That's an order, Kinneas," Squall snapped. Turning away, he motioned for his chosen four to come forward.

Dannis took particular enjoyment in strutting to the commander's side. He spared the sulking gunman a glance, gloating over the fact that he was in a coveted position. Kinneas had taken his spot as leader on the first day, and his chance at revenge had come sooner than expected.

Irvine returned Dannis gaze reproachfully. The kid reminded of Seifer, and he was sorely tempted to draw his gun.

Hating to leave after such harsh words, Squall regarded Irvine once more and said, "Fortify what you can. You know the drill." After thinking again on the man's strong desire to fight at his side, he reminded, "If you see a green flare, don't come after me."

"Squall," Irvine protested.

"Retreat to the beach. Under no circumstances are you to put the rest of the group in jeopardy."

Irvine saluted, his jaw clenched to hold back a slew of protests. Every fiber in his body protested as Squall trekked off towards the stream with a scarce four soldiers in tail. The remaining group of five looked to him for further instruction.

Resolving not to let the commander down despite his sore rejection, Irvine turned to the group and began barking orders. The level of confidence in his voice seemed to infect the others, lessening some of their apprehensions.

--

Lore adjusted his grip, unable to feel completely comfortable with how the quarterstaff felt in his hold. For the third time that week, he was at Seifer's training center.

"You'll have to do better, kid," Seifer said.

Circling cautiously, they studied each other. The sun beat down through the stadium's open rooftop. Seifer ran a hand through glinting gold hair, smoothing back strands that fell into his face. Lore's hair was shorter, his raven locks swept waywardly in a manner similar to his father's.

"I am doing better," Lore muttered, taking another step to the side. "It won't be long before I beat you."

"I didn't say you weren't better," Seifer returned snidely. "But you're decades away from beating me."

"We'll see!" Lore declared, thrusting the blunt end of his quarterstaff towards Seifer's stomach.

Seifer knocked the extended end of the boy's staff to the ground. Using his boot to pin it in place, he swung his own staff around and knocked the weapon from Lore's hands.

"Shit," Lore hissed, losing his grip. His staff went sailing to the side. He became distracted at the loss, and nearly failed to dodge Seifer's next attack. There was no time to think, which made it impossible to figure out what his next move should be.

Seifer smiled when Lore dove away to retrieve the lost staff. The boy was learning quickly. A few days ago, the match would have been over by now, but Leonhart's son had a surprising aptitude and was beginning to react without hesitation. Immediate reactions needed to be dictated by instinct, such as retrieving a lost weapon.

"Better," Seifer commented, already in pursuit of the boy.

Lore rolled out of the way of a hard blow directed at his leg. Staff in hand, he scrambled upright and jogged back several paces. "But not good enough," he said through clenched teeth.

"You have quick feet," Seifer stated in a tone that was simply observing a fact.

Smiling triumphantly, Lore said, "Like my dad."

"Don't get cocky until you have something worth getting cocky about. You're snot half as fast as Leonhart."

Lore's smile faltered. Gaze narrowing, he shot back, "That's still faster than you."

Seifer let loose a series of quick jabbing attacks. Lore delighted in dodging each one, showing off swift footwork that he used for soccer. Thinking he had the upper hand, he was surprised when he suddenly ran into the wall bordering the battleground.

Before Lore could even process that he had nowhere to run, the ex-knight directed an attack to his shoulder. He parried at the last second, his staff held up between both hands, but the force of the man's attack sent a shock through his entire body. His teeth snapped together and the bones in his arms ached. The next attack wrenched his weapon from his hands once again.

Lore was forced to concede defeat. Seifer lowered the blunt end of his staff from the boy's neck and smirked victoriously.

"No point in being fast if you have nowhere to go," Seifer jibed.

"Bastard," Lore muttered sorely. "You cheated."

"Cheated!?" Seifer barked, laughing at the notion. "It's called strategy. Half the battle is mental."

Lore appeared skeptical.

Retrieving the kid's staff, Seifer tossed it to its owner and explained, "You can't be all brawn and no brain. That's how you get yourself cornered and killed."

Glowering as he deftly caught his staff, Lore defended, "I know how to strategize."

Hand gesturing to the wall, Seifer quirked a brow and remarked, "Then how did you end up here."

"I can't think when I'm busy dodging." It didn't seem possible. Each attack happened so quickly that he barely had enough time to counterattack or defend, let alone plan several moves ahead. Chess players sat quietly and took time to contemplate their next move. They didn't run around trying to avoid their opponent's well-aimed swings.

"Your father can," Seifer returned with a lazy grin.

Lips pressed tightly together, Lore swallowed his retort. His father was the best there was. He couldn't possibly measure up.

"Of course, he wasn't always that way," Seifer stated, recalling Leonhart's first few years at Balamb Garden. He smirked as he pictured the scrawny pre-teen, unable to specialize in the gunblade until meeting the weight requirement.

Seeing the same look in the blond's green eyes that Uncle Irvine sometimes had whenever old memories came forward, Lore became both jealous and curious. He wanted those memories, and to know what his father had been like at his age. Curiosity winning, he tried to appear as indifferent as possible while inquiring, "He wasn't?"

It was a moment before Seifer answered. Letting his memories slip away, he regarded the dark haired teen and said, "He lost a lot of fights before learning how to win them. Everyone loses until they know how to win."

"Even you?" Lore hedged.

Smirking, Seifer shook his head. "I was born a god."

Lore rolled his eyes. "You were born a jerk."

"I can live with being a jerk. It's a hell of a lot better than being a mamma's boy."

"You're one to talk," Lore countered. "You're the one who hung around my house last time Dad was gone, wagging your tail until he finally came home."

"At least I'm getting tail," Seifer said with a lewd grin. As expected the boy rushed at him. Laughing, he raised his staff to block Lore's attack. When agitated, the kid gained a level of strength that reminded him of his own.

--

When Squall broke through the clearing and came to the stream, he wasn't certain how close he was to the group that had signaled for help. At the sound of shouting, he turned and followed the cry downstream.

Dannis followed on the commander's heels, able to keep pace. His smoky grey eyes were alight with energy, eager to see combat.

Squall jogged around the stream's bend. Before they were in sight of the members of their group, the towering form of a T-Rex loomed into view.

"Fuck me," Dannis exclaimed.

Hearing this remark, Squall could not help but glance back. Dannis even sounded like Seifer, or perhaps it was simply the shared habit of vulgar language. Shaking his head, he forced himself to concentrate on the giant creature a hundred paces away.

Squall approached swiftly, each step he took seeming to make the beast grow larger. It was no ordinary T-Rex. Its hide was an ivy green with speckles of brown, and it towered at least four stories. Though it was recognizable as a T-Rex, it was twice the size of the ones in Balamb.

"Commander!" a man shouted near the streambed, before letting off several rounds from his machine gun. The unexpected end of the gun's reports signaled that the man had run out of ammo.

Squall recognized the man as Shripe, his third lieutenant. Approaching as close as he dared, he signaled for the others to huddle close for instructions. With its back facing them, the T-Rex hadn't noticed their arrival.

A plan had already formed in Squall's head. "Dannis, Kemmerick, take the right flank. Gorton and Lennex take the left. I'll move to the front and get to Shripe." Drawing his gunblade, the steely metal seemed to glow silver at the promise of battle. Tapping the fingertips of his left hand to his forehead, he drew Diablo's presence closer to the surface. "Mind the tail and cast sleep whenever you can."

After a chorusing "Yes'sir" Squall darted forward. When the monster caught sight of Dannis and Kemmerick at its flank, Squall was given an opening. Sprinting, he sloshed into the water, his boots and the legs of his fatigues immediately soaked. At the piercing roar the beast gave off, he tightened his hold on his gunblade and felt strength emanating from its core. The ground seemed to shake from the deafening growl, but he refused to hesitate. He moved alongside the swaying tail that hovered several feet in the air, the base of it as thick as the trunk of a large tree. Knowing that a single powerful swing from such a tail could easily put an end to his life, he took care not to knock into it.

T-Rexes had several weaknesses, and he hoped they applied to this particular breed. They were susceptible to sleep spells, their size left them with numerous blind spots, and they were easily angered. It was easy to distract a T-Rex simply by taunting it. It was this distractibility that allowed Squall to run up to the creature and rush between its legs. In a matter of seconds, he was on the other side of the enraged dinosaur, much to everyone's surprise.

"Commander," Shripe called again, staggering to meet the ballsy swordsman.

"Where are the others?" Squall asked. While casting cautious glances over his shoulder to make sure the creature was occupied, he grabbed Shripe by the arm and drew him farther downstream, away from fight.

The lieutenant was older than Squall, in his late forties. He had a stocky build, his body a solid mass of muscle that could stop a boulder in its tracks. He had been a SeeD before the war, unlike most of the group members, and had fought enough battles to keep his cool in any emergency. His eyes appeared dazed. Blood oozed down from his dark hairline, and Squall suspected the man had experienced a lash from the monster's massive tail.

Panting, Shripe wipe a bloody brow and explained, "I ordered them downstream. I didn't want to lead that thing back to camp." Taking several more breaths, he continued, "We fought as long as we could. If I'd known Rexes would be here, I would have stocked up on more sleeps."

"Join your men. We can take it from here."

"Sir," Shripe protested. "It's not like the ones back home. It's stronger, and there's some sort of poison in its mouth. Its tooth grazed Felix and he was down for the count."

"Go," Squall said more firmly, giving the man a shove. Turning around, he found his group of four taking turns with their attacks. By alternating sides, they kept the T-Rex angrily uncertain which direction it wanted to make a counterattack. As he ran back to join the fight, the creature soon resolved its problem by spinning around and swiping its tail in a half-circle. The movement was swifter than Squall would have thought possible of such a large beast. It proved too swift for Gorton, who caught the tip and was tossed several feet away.

The creature's back was once again facing Squall. Unwilling to chance such a move as running beneath the T-Rex while it stomped about in a fit of rage, he decided to make the angry beast face him instead.

Keeping his eyes trained on the monster, he slid a hand along one of his belts and drew an explosive bullet. Removing a regular bullet from the revolver's chamber, he slipped the deadly ammo in and loaded it.

Taking a deep breath, Squall grit his teeth and charged the thick tail. Leaping into the air, he swung his weapon overhead. As the gleaming blade sliced through cartilage and bone, he pulled the trigger. A burst of fire exploded with a loud crack. He was thrust back by the explosion, but he managed to wrench his gunblade cleanly through. As the severed tail splashed into the water, the T-Rex roared in pain. It twisted around and focused all its bloodthirsty attention on Squall.

Squall staggered back, barely managing to keep his footing after the blast threw him back.

"Commander!" one of the men shouted in warning.

Having anticipated the creature would strike at him, Squall was ready. Instead of jumping back and gaining a safe distance, he crouched low and summoned Diablo. Just as the T-Rex lunged for him, its snapping jaws dripping acidic saliva, the sky darkened and a black figure materialized. An acrid scent filled the air as molten tar dripped from Diablo's form, sizzling as it hit the water.

Diablo dropped down, a single clawed foot smashing into the dinosaur's head. The T-Rex stumbled sideways, dazed by the heavy blow. With a flap of leathery wings, Diablo landed beside Squall. The Guardian Force's large figure appeared armored in a suit of spiky black mail. Diablo's flesh was leathery skin over corded muscles, with sharp horns that jutted from various joints. Unlike the other Guardian Forces, he was not just a demi-god. Diablo was a demon, a creature born from darkness, an antithesis to Hyne.

Diablo's distaste for humans was apparent, but as he glanced down at Squall through narrowed slits of red that served for eyes, he offered to objection to being used as a servant. He was not an easy Guardian Force to wield, but Squall had developed a high compatibility with the creature, and had formed a truce years ago after defeating him in battle.

With a single nod, Squall commanded Diablo forward. The black demon took flight and charged ahead. In a series of jaw-shattering attacks, Diablo slashed and kicked until the T-Rex had fallen and rolled helplessly on its back. Though the demon flew closer for another attack, Squall raised his arm and signaled Diablo to come back to him. The demon cast a questioning glance towards him, but obeyed.

"Thank you," Squall said before releasing Diablo from his summons. The demon vanished without a trace. As the T-Rex thrashed about to regain its footing, he took pity and cast sleep.

With the monster oblivious to the world, Squall motioned for his team to regroup.

"We can take it!" Dannis declared with his broadsword extended for an attack.

"No!" Squall called out.

"We can't leave it here like this, Commander," Gorton said. He limped closer, the impact of the creature's tail having broken at least one rib.

Shaking his head, Squall explained, "We will kill it, but not with weapons. Let it sleep. It doesn't need to be awake."

"You mean, we should just use magic on it?"

"Yes," Squall confirmed, feeling a sense of pity that a leader shouldn't feel for any monster that threatened the lives of his men. Nonetheless, the T-Rex was so large and had such a violent will to live that they could hack away for hours and it would still struggle to stay alive, bleeding and in pain. He would rather let it die as it slept, oblivious to the harm that magic caused.

Dannis became indignant. "What did we come here for!?" he shouted, refusing to leave his position near the monster's side. He was ready to strike. If the creature weren't awake to fight back, then he couldn't gain any real experience.

"Stand down!" Kemmerick yelled.

"Dammit!" Dannis cursed, seething as he walked away and joined the others. His fiery red hair was a match for his temper.

From a safe distance, the five men were able to cast various spells, using up the ones they had to spare. The T-Rex had a long lifespan, and it was a full hour before the deed was finally done. It lay lifelessly in the path of the stream.

Squall sent Kemmerick after the soldiers that had retreated downstream. They would need at least ten men, even if half of those men were weary and injured, to drag the body to the tree line so that it didn't pollute the water.

Though a cure spell mended scrapes and bruises, it did nothing to restore stamina. They trekked back to camp, sweaty and tired. Felix, who had been unfortunate enough to taste the biting sting of the T-Rex's tooth was in the worst shape. It had taken a mega-elixir to heal his wound and flush out the poison, and even then he appeared ashen and drained.

For his part, Squall wasn't exhausted, but his muscles were tight. Dannis had energy to spare, and spent it by brooding and casting rueful gazes at the commander.

"Come off it, Dannis," Gorton muttered, slapping the boy on the back. "It was the humane thing to do."

"Humane," Dannis spat. "Is that how he killed Ultimecia?" He glared spitefully at the back of the commander's head. Everything about the effeminate swordsman pissed him off. He didn't see the hero that everyone else saw. The man was just some pretty-boy who knew how to put on a good show.

"I'm no beast lover, but you can't deny that we're the ones invading here. Besides, it would have taken ages to kill that thing if we sliced it and diced it. Then we would have needed to rest up tomorrow instead of carrying on with the mission."

Though he understood the practicality behind the commander's actions, Dannis was not pleased. The T-Rex had been the first creature to put up a good fight on the island and he wanted the experience.

Kemmerick came up behind Gorton and Dannis. "Where there's one T-Rex, there's always another," he assured.

"That's nothing to hope for," Gorton returned.

Squall listened impassively as the group recounted the fight to each other. He kept his focus on their surroundings, cautious of other monsters. Most low-level fiends would have fled from the sound of the T-Rex's deafening roar, but if there happened to be another T-Rex within earshot, it would try to join the fight or seek revenge.

By the time they reached camp, Squall and the third lieutenant were the only two who remained on their guard. The others exchanged stories from previous T-Rex encounters, each trying to outdo the other.

Irvine rushed forward, meeting Squall with a scrutinizing gaze. From the looks of the others, there had been a battle. "Are you okay?" he asked.

Squall nodded, reverting to his silent ways now that there was no need to order his men. He spoke more during a single battle than he generally did in an entire month. Words came fluidly when he was in command, but he still kept it to the bare minimum.

Not taking the commander's response as the truth, Irvine turned to Shripe and asked, "Is he okay?"

Shripe laughed. Kinneas was a strange man and not at all what he had expected. The gunman was as much a legend as the commander. He still found it strange to see the world's champion sharpshooter fawning over the commander like a concerned mother hen. "Right as rain," he stated. With a mischievous grin, he added, "As good as can be expected after encountering a T-Rex."

Irvine blanched.

"You should have seen it," Gorton said with an animated gesture. "The first thing the commander did was run right underneath it, straight between its legs."

"Quite the daredevil," Irvine muttered cynically, his expression grave.

Sighing inwardly, Squall brushed past his over-protective friend. "The water is safe," he said, this declaration making all their efforts worth it. They had a source of fresh water and the knowledge that a nasty breed of T-Rex inhabited the island.

--

Laguna cheered, shouting excitedly as the crowd around him did the same. With an assist from Lore, his grandson's team had scored again, taking the lead. The boy was playing particularly well that night, and he was sorry that Squall was there to see it.

When Laguna's detail of black-suited guards stiffened and inched closer, he knew his guest had arrived.

"Mr. President," the chief guard said near Laguna's shoulder. "Mr. Almasy is here."

"Let him through," Laguna directed, much to the guard's dismay.

Moments later, Seifer stood beside the longhaired president, towering over the man and everyone else in the crowd.

"Is there any particular reason why you called me out here?" Seifer asked in a gruff tone. Wearing black slacks, a burgundy colored dress shirt, sunglasses, and a stern expression, his presence was more assuming of the president's chief bodyguard than a businessman.

"Particular?" Laguna queried thoughtfully. "I suppose so. Seeing your son play soccer is considered particular, isn't it?"

Seifer would have scoffed if the president hadn't spoken in a surprisingly sharp manner. He rarely heard such a tone from Leonhart's father. The man's words came across as a reprimand.

"I'm a busy man, Loire," Seifer stated. Despite his words, he removed his glasses and scoured the brightly colored forms in search of Leonhart's son.

Laguna smiled softly. "He's number sixteen in the red jersey."

Sneering, Seifer tore his eyes from the grassy field. "Why am I here?" he demanded.

Laguna regarded the blond with a smile. "I asked you to meet me here. You didn't have to come."

"You said you had something to discuss that concerned Squall."

"It's not about his mission or anything like that," Laguna assured.

"Well fuck," Seifer grumbled. "You've just wasted my time." He turned to leave, but the president set a hand on his arm.

"They're starting again," Laguna said. A collective cheering from the surrounding crowd rang out.

Seifer found his eyes drawn back to the field. Even as he cursed Loire for being a meddlesome fool, he stepped back into place and watched with an edge of curiosity. "Is he any good?" he questioned doubtfully.

"Quite," Laguna said, beaming a proud smile.

Seifer had been to a previous game, but his intention had been to harass Leonhart, so he hadn't watched the boy. When his eyes finally spotted the raven-haired teen in the distance, he found himself unable to look away. Soccer didn't interest him, but he acknowledged that the sport required some degree of skill.

"Have you heard from Squall?" Seifer asked. If he could obtain any bit of information on Leonhart's mission, then his drive from the training center wouldn't be entirely wasted.

"I haven't the faintest idea what Squall is up to," Laguna declared. Feeling the glare from fiery green eyes, he added, "No news is truly good news in such situations. The only way I would hear from anyone about the mission is if something went wrong and Squall were hurt."

"It's already been two weeks," Seifer said. He buried his concern as best he could, but he couldn't manage to keep it from creeping into his voice.

Laguna's expression softened. Casting doleful hazel-green eyes upon the ex-knight, he consoled, "I've been through this routine dozens of times. He always comes back safe and sound."

Seifer muttered something of an agreement, but didn't comment further. He knew enough to drop a topic when Loire felt the need to console him.

A shout went up and Seifer turned his attention to the field just in time to see Lore maneuver the ball past an opposing player and make a goal. As Loire began cheering, a strange sort of elation swelled inside him. When he realized he was grinning, his expression quickly turned sour.

"He's quite good," Laguna reiterated.

Seifer slipped his sunglasses on and crossed his arms.

"Lore tells me he's been sparring with you."

Seifer's gaze remained fixed, his stern profile offering no response to Laguna's comment.

Not at all discouraged, Laguna continued, "I always found it strange that Lore never took more of an interest in learning to fight."

"Is it the boy's lack of interest, or Leonhart's discouragement?" Seifer returned.

Laguna hummed to himself, finding something new to reflect on. "I'm not certain. Squall never seemed to have a problem with Lore learning the basics."

"But he never encouraged the kid to enroll in Garden or take up the gunblade," Seifer stated matter-of-factly.

"I would worry about him if he became a SeeD," Laguna stated. "I'm sure Squall feels the same."

"If it's okay for the father, then it's okay for the son," Seifer reasoned. Having no father himself, he had always made up his own rules and followed his own code of conduct.

"That's not what it's about," Laguna refuted. Eyeing the man beside him, he added, "You wouldn't understand." There was an intentional bite to his statement. When he saw the annoyed gleam in jade-green eyes, he knew he had hit his mark.

Seifer felt the sting of Loire's accusation. For the first time, he resented not being able to understand what Leonhart felt as a parent. "So instead of being a fighter, he'll become some pampered egghead that wets himself when he sees a Grat."

"I doubt that," Laguna refuted. "I've seen Lore fight. He can defend himself."

"He can manage," Seifer muttered disdainfully. "But it's a fucking waste. He's got too much of Leonhart in him."

"He's got some of you in him too," Laguna stated, fixing a penetrating gaze on the ex-knight.

Seifer suddenly realized what the president was after. He had fallen prey to an experienced politician. The man used his innocent and feckless tendencies as a weapon, luring unsuspecting targets close until it was time to pounce.

Sensing that his cover had been blown, Laguna's expression sobered. The crows-feet at his eyes deepened and his laugh lines became visible. "I like that you're dating my son," he stated deadpan.

It was because the Estharian president was his supporter that Seifer hadn't already left. He didn't appreciate being called away from work on a misleading premise. However, he had very few allies at the moment, and none so influential as Loire, so he extended a rare courtesy.

"I like you despite what you may think right now," Laguna continued. "I don't care for the fact that you bully my grandson, but boys his age could use a little bullying now and then."

With a huff, Seifer said, "They stay spoiled otherwise."

Laguna gave an agreeing nod, though he fixed an adoring gaze on Lore's distant figure. "At this point I don't think you need any help wooing my son. Squall is completely taken with you, whether he knows it or not."

Seifer let a sly grin spread across his face. "Naturally," he said.

Ignoring the blond's arrogant attitude, Laguna regarded Seifer with a sharpened gaze. "Squall is not a lone wolf anymore. If you want him, you have to want Lore and even myself. I'm not going anywhere, and I make it my business to be as much of a father to Squall as I can."

"I don't mind you, Loire," Seifer admitted. Laughing darkly, he considered the veiled threat and began to wonder if he might abscond to another country with Leonhart. There was no escaping Loire's reach while living in Esthar, which could easily become an annoyance in the near future.

"And _the boy_," Laguna pressed, his tone mocking and condemning the way Seifer repeatedly referred to his grandson.

"Lore," Seifer said, reflecting on the various times Leonhart had corrected him and urged him to use the brat's name.

"He's not a means to an end. Getting on his good side might make things easier, but it doesn't mean he goes away. If you're in Squall's life, then you're in Lore's life too, just as they'll both be in yours."

"I've heard this before," Seifer clipped, his patience waning.

"But have you listened?" challenged Laguna. "Ten years ago you wanted nothing to do with Lore or Squall. Has that changed?"

"I believe you witnessed the answer to that question when you walked in on me and Leonhart last time," Seifer said jeeringly. His remark hit true when the composed president blushed furiously.

Struggling to overcome his embarrassment, Laguna reiterated, "Squall doesn't come alone. You can't pry him away from Lore."

"I know," Seifer muttered sorely. "I've tried."

"If you can't give me a clear answer, then the answer is clear."

Quirking a quizzical brow, Seifer studied the older man's profile. After a moment, Loire turned and looked at him insistently. "Hyne, you're really no better than Kinneas, are you?"

"I should think not." Laguna was Squall's father, which gave him more right than anyone to meddle and pry, even if he usually kept his distance.

Taking a deep breath, Seifer released it on a heavy sigh. "The boy is tolerable," he conceded. The president hadn't told him anything he hadn't already known. He had known for a long time that Leonhart came as a packaged deal. He had made repeated efforts to consort with the kid, and indeed found that he could tolerate the boy in small doses. He wasn't going to take Lore fishing for long weekends, but a spar every now and then worked out well.

"Do you feel anything for him yet?" Laguna asked in a quiet voice. A line of worry knitted his brow as his eyes earnestly fixed the ex-knight in place.

With a smirk, Seifer responded, "I feel annoyance."

Sighing, Laguna shook his head. "If it happens, it'll happen quick," he explained. "You'll find your eyes drawn to him at first. You'll think about him and wonder how much of yourself you can find in him, and if he has your habits. Before you know it, you'll feel pride in everything he does."

Frowning, Seifer stared forward. He thought back to his earlier lapse, when he had been compelled to stay just to catch a quick glimpse of the boy playing. His frown deepened. "What are you on about?" he grumbled.

"That's how it was for me," Laguna said. "When I learned that Squall was my son. At first, I stayed away. After the war, I thought I had no right to be in his life. More than that, I didn't want to be a father to a grown boy that was already seventeen." With an anguished expression, he seemed lost in old memories. "Squall was just a year older than Lore is now when I first met him. Our circumstances are remarkably similar, wouldn't you say?"

"No," Seifer muttered. "I walked away years ago. I met the kid when he was a pipsqueak."

"You didn't really meet him, and you had other concerns that made it difficult to stay."

Expression darkening, Seifer murmured, "Says you."

"I regret it to this day," Laguna continued. "When I decided to be in Squall's life, the guilt I felt was overwhelming. I love him so much that remembering the years I wasted brings more regret than any person should feel. I never saw my son grow up. It's my greatest tragedy."

Seifer listened, but didn't express any sympathy towards the president's pained experience.

Laguna tried to make Seifer understand the precarious situation. "When I say that you have to let Lore into your life if you want Squall, I'm not lecturing you. I'm warning you. It may hurt."

Standing in silent reflection, Seifer churned Loire's advice over in his head. After several minutes, he declared, "You and I aren't cut from the cloth. I regret nothing."

Laguna watched with a feeling of anxiety as the ex-knight left. The man could have a heart of steel, but that heart would be moved to tears when he accepted that Lore was his son. The connection between parent and child was a peculiar thing, and he hoped Seifer was ready for it.

--

By the third week, Squall and his team had covered nearly half the length of the island. There were numerous hills and high ridges that would take too long to detour around. Hiking along a steady incline was exhausting, but once they reached the top, they could look forward to an easier trek downhill.

The trees were less sparse along the base of the ridge, but the terrain was dangerously steep at points. Pushing the group until the last rays of the sunlight were fading from the sky, Squall was satisfied when they reached a safely fortified plateau halfway up the mountainous hillside.

Performing like a well-oiled machine, camp was set up quickly for the night. The distant babble of the stream had become a permanent fixture. They had followed the stream's path, finding that it turned north and took them exactly where they wanted to go. The water was deeper than the shallow trickle nearer the beach, allowing them to bath and wash their clothes.

As usual, Irvine directed the team away from the stream while Squall bathed, giving the commander a "respectful privacy". Squall knew Irvine's true motivations for joining the mission, which was the same reason the man kept a headcount while he washed up.

When Squall came to the streambed, he made a cautious descent, holding a relatively clean set of clothes in one arm while his other arm never strayed to far from his gunblade. The water had cut into the hill, creating a sharp V shaped gouge. The drop off was sudden, and it would be a painful fall for anyone that tripped.

Shedding sweaty fatigues, Squall listened intently for the sound of unwelcome guests. There were fewer monsters near the ridge. He suspected there might be aerial predators that deterred smaller creatures from leaving the dense coverage of the jungle.

Though he risked exposing his body, Squall couldn't trust his surroundings. One of the belts that tied around his thigh to hold a dagger was easily tightened to strap around his upper arm. Wearing nothing except the small blade, he gathered his dirty clothes and waded into the center of the stream. First washing his clothes and then himself, the chill water was refreshing.

It was dark by the time he finished. A pale half-moon provided a surprisingly bright light. Even the stars seemed bright enough to counter the dark shadows of the brush and trees that surrounded him.

Squall was grateful for the time alone, but it was irksome to wait until everyone else had finished. The nightly ritual was always done under the cover of darkness, as though he had to hide his body.

Irvine's fixated concern with his chastity had nothing to do past incidences or any likelihood that his teammates would attempt to sexually assault him. In fact, it had nothing to do with chastity, since he wasn't a virgin and the periods of celibacy in his life were not due to chasteness. Irvine and Lore's peculiar protectiveness was partly his fault.

His son and best friend reacted to his asocial behavior. They recognized that he preferred solitude and perceived others as threats to the isolation he clung to. His lack of experience when it came to relationships triggered his family's concern, making them wary and doubtful that he couldn't navigate the twisted roads of romance. Seifer was possessive to a fault and had different motivations for acting like every adult male in a mile radius wanted to jump him.

He wasn't incompetent when it came to romance, but he would be the first to admit that he had trouble perceiving and understanding the emotions involved. Cale had been in love with him for year and he had been oblivious to the fact. With Seifer, he still had no idea what he felt or why he felt so attracted to the man.

Dunking under the flowing water, Squall cleared his head. There was little sense in brooding over such matters. Lore had become less protective lately, grudgingly accepting Seifer into his life. Irvine wasn't around as often, even if his presence on the mission was the gesture of a best friend's protective concern.

In reality, he didn't need anyone looking out for him. He was wary and standoffish by nature, making it difficult for anyone to become his friend or even approach him. Most people found him cold and aloof. Enamored fans generally kept their distance, perhaps suspecting he would ruin their idolized image if they met him.

With a reflexive smile, Squall concluded that Seifer understood him better than anyone. The man saw past his defenses, knowing what buttons to push and when to back down. His fingers trailed over his neck, rubbing where the mark had been. He could feel the heated press of Seifer's lips, even if the mark had disappeared weeks ago.

When his body began to react, Squall dipped beneath the water again, willing it to become colder. Dragging himself back to the shoreline, he dressed quickly in a set of dark grey fatigues. With his gunblade strapped on, he gathered the clothes he had washed and headed back to camp.

Upon returning, Squall found that several team members had retired for the night. The remaining stragglers were grouped around the fire, talking animatedly. Except for a few minor disagreements, everyone mixed well together. Their time confined on the island had brought them all closer. Despite differences in ages and ranks, they fought with an increasing amount of concern for each other's well being.

A hush fell over everyone as the commander drew within earshot.

Squall took a seat beside Irvine. His body shivered against the night air, cold drops from his hair running down his neck. Inching closer to the fire, he stared at dancing flames. Feeling hypnotized by the fire, he was quickly lost in his own musings.

Irvine had to nudge Squall to draw his attention. Stormy blue eyes sharpened and Squall glanced at the gunman questioningly.

"They asked about your scar," Irvine said.

Squall's hand instinctively rose to his forehead. He traced the diagonal slash between his brows. He held a bizarre affection for the mark. He and Seifer would always be linked by it.

Lieutenant Shripe had a gruff manner, but was always respectful, never once questioning the authority of the team leader who was ten years younger than him. He even used the honorific title that didn't actually apply to the man. Squall Leonhart was no longer a commander, but everyone called him that. Raising his left arm, he pointed to a long jagged scar that ran from his the underside of his wrist to his elbow. "I was telling the boys how I got this beauty. I wondered if you'd give the story behind yours."

Everyone grew quiet. They all knew the rumors about the commander, which included how he had received his prominent scar. They knew the scar had a twin, a mirror image born by Ultimecia's knight. Hearing the account firsthand had them eagerly holding their breath.

Dannis tossed another log onto the fire, breaking the tense silence. Seated opposite the commander, he peered over licking flames and met clear grey-blue eyes. Feeling the commander's attention, his stomach tightened. Wondering what the swordsman thought while looking at him, he became self-conscious. When the unblinking gaze flickered to the ground for a moment, he realized that the commander had been staring into the fire and hadn't even noticed he was there.

Shripe was about to move on, feeling certain he had met another boundary with the commander. The younger man was eerily quiet at times, rarely speaking even when spoken to. He always wore a look of equanimity, appearing calm and composed in and out of battle. He had a standoffish aura, and most of the guys had stopped trying to strike up conversations since their remarks were only met with silence. It wasn't until they observed the commander treating Kinneas with the same reserved manner that they realized his aloofness wasn't a personal affront, but merely a character flaw.

Indignant at how the commander continued to ignore all attempts at socializing, Dannis spoke up. "You got the scar from Ultimecia's knight, right?"

The silence that followed was heavier than before. None of them were afraid to ask the commander questions, though they had learned to limit their inquiries to what was relevant to the mission. They knew enough not to press for an answer when the laconic brunet didn't offer a prompt response.

Irvine stirred, shifting to sit straighter. Inclining his head, he peered from beneath the brim of his hat and studied Dannis. The brash soldier had made a habit of questioning Squall's authority, but had never actually disobeyed an order. Squall refused to let him teach the boy a lesson. He suspected that Squall found Dannis amusing rather than troublesome, since the kid reminded him of Seifer.

Waiting for a cue, Irvine watched Squall's profile. Delicate features were relaxed, appearing indifferent to the comment.

Jaw clenching, Dannis found the commander's patient nature to be a greater annoyance than his lack of words. "What about the scar on your stomach?" he asked, hoping to elicit some sort of reaction.

Squall stiffened. Ice filled his eyes as he gazed narrowly across the fire towards Dannis.

Smirking, Dannis felt victorious. He had hit a bull's eye. "Most of the guys have seen it."

A collective curiosity targeted Squall. Everyone knew the general story behind the faintly pink scar on the swordsman's forehead, but none of them had a clue where the other scar came from. It had to have been a strong enemy, perhaps another memento of Ultimecia's knight, or even the sorceress herself.

Irvine teetered on the edge of his seat. Fighting the urge to fire a few rounds into Dannis' leg, he clipped, "Drop it."

Dannis' attention turned to the gunman. Kinneas had no real place on the mission and wasn't even a member of Balamb Garden. The sharp shooting cowboy was almost as annoying at the commander. The man always hovered near Commander Leonhart, speaking on the swordsman's behalf as though he were a dog trailing after its master. "Come on, Commander," he pressed in a mocking tone. He gave Kinneas a challenging smirk before meeting the pale swordsman's icy eyes again. "A scar like that has a story behind it. How long was it before you got a potion to close it?"

Taking a steady breath, Squall reined in his emotions. He had mixed feelings about Dannis' question. He wasn't ashamed of his scar, but he didn't make a habit of publicizing it. As his expression became neutral again, he took a moment to reflect, finally deciding that he wanted to keep the truth close to his heart. After a long moment of oppressive silence, his eyes flickered over to Irvine.

Irvine nodded and turned his attention on the group. Masking his anger, he drawled sweetly, "You gotta earn that story."

Dannis kept his gaze on the commander. The challenge made him sink his teeth in deeper. "It's a clean cut, almost like it was surgical, except that surgeries don't leave scars."

"Dannis, back off," Kemmerick hissed beside the young man.

Gorton countered Dannis' remark, saying, "I've got a scar from having my appendix removed. The longer they have you open, the more visible the scar."

"How long were you open?" Dannis queried, his eyes burning into the commander's.

Squall sensed that Irvine was ready to draw his gun. Raising a hand to quiet the gunman, he simply stared across the fire and held the persistent redhead's gaze.

Feeling the ground tilt beneath him, Dannis became lost in the commander's eyes. They were unreadable, yet he swore he saw something flicker behind the carefully erected guard. It was as though the man were trying to convey a message through thought alone. Losing some of his anger, he felt mesmerized. Perhaps it was the way the glint of reds and oranges from the fire danced in clear grey-blue irises, but he couldn't look away.

"When you earn it," Squall said evenly, impressing countless meanings into his words.

For a moment, Dannis couldn't tell if the swordsman had spoken. He hadn't seen the man's mouth move, and it was hard to miss any movement from those bow-shaped lips. However, his ears could not be deceived, and he was certain he had heard the brunet's clear and dulcet voice.

Realizing he had just been challenged, Dannis grit his teeth and glared. The commander continued to stare. Before he lost himself again, he dropped his gaze, but quickly realized that this was a sign of submission. Raising his eyes again, he found that it was too late. The swordsman gazed towards the bottom of the fire, a long fringe of dark lashes shrouding those strangely powerful eyes.

Unease remained as the group acknowledged Dannis' increasing disobedience and the chilling effect the commander's rapt attention could have. Squall gracefully stood and nodded to the others, intent on retiring for the night. Irvine was quick to follow, as though the gunman didn't trust leaving the commander unattended.

Dannis seethed, vowing to discover the origins of the scar on the commander's abdomen.

TBC…

Author's note:

Excuse the typos/overlooked grammar errors and general clumsiness. My mind is not working well today.

Anyway, YAY! for another chapter. I suppose the fact that it takes me ten times as long to update as it used to makes it feel like a bigger accomplishment. I hope you enjoyed it. I know some of you are concerned that I've dropped the issue of Squall's pregnancy, but I swear it's still an important factor, and will come into play again later on.

The pace is faster and so much is happening compared to the slow going chapters that I usually post, it almost seems like a completely different story. I've made so many new issues that have to be resolved that I'm beginning to wonder if I can ever end the story. No worries though, I will finish it.

Thank you for the awesome reviews on the last chapter (they seriously kept me going). I look forward to your thoughts on this new chapter. Criticism is always welcome, since I usually need a kick in the butt that points out flaws (like referring to someone as "the commander" a million times until you never want to see those words again).


	44. Chapter 44

Defining Love

Chapter Forty-Four

Seifer cursed his lack of foresight. Leonhart had been gone for nearly five weeks, and he hadn't thought to make a sex tape beforehand. He had been a fool to dismiss the idea simply because his modest partner would never agree to it.

As his foot tapped a rapid beat against the floor, he forced his eyes to focus on the report in front of him. Lewd thoughts ran through his head, perpetuating the stiffness in his pants that had been there all morning. A hand was a poor substitute for sex. Countless cold showers had left him in a constant state of sexual frustration.

Blessed with good looks all his life, he had never had a shortage of sex. Any dry spells were on account of extraneous circumstances. As a fisherman, it had been easy to cope with morning wood and days of no relief, but he had been out at sea and his head hadn't been filled with arousing images of Leonhart.

"Fuck," he grumbled darkly, giving his work up for lost. Leaning back in his seat, he swiveled around to stare out the window. The urge to have his rival was maddening, and it grew in exponential increments. He was becoming desperate to bind the sultry brunet inside his arms, to feel the warmth of firm flesh. Leonhart's scent had faded from his bed pillow, and he had begun to seriously consider snatching the pillows from Leonhart's own bed. He wasn't quite that desperate, just horny enough to plot the scheme in his imagination.

Needing a distraction, Seifer decided to call Lore. The kid had become something of a pet project. The boy had a rudimentary knowledge of weapons and tactics, but there was definite potential that was a shame to leave untapped. Under his guidance, Lore showed a promising aptitude for fighting. If things continued as they were, he might indulge the boy's request to start using a gunblade.

When the boy answered, Seifer grumbled a coarse greeting. It was the closest he came to amiable.

"What do you want?" Lore asked, sounding occupied.

Seifer checked his watch. It was one o'clock. The kid was still in school. "I'm taking off work early. How about some practice?"

It was no longer just _sparring_. Lore came to practice rather than challenge Seifer. Seifer was a surprisingly patient teacher and Lore was a quick learner, but their tempers still flared. More often than not, they ended their sessions with harsh words and pernicious glares, but they were okay to start all over again by the next day.

There was a hesitant pause. "Right now?"

"No, I'll pencil you in for next Saturday," Seifer bit out sarcastically.

"I'm in class."

With blithe disregard to the boy's schedule, Seifer muttered, "Your point being?" Another difference between him and Leonhart were their attitudes towards school. Seifer had shown up to take exams, but had skipped all other days. Leonhart, who could have just as easily skipped and aced the exams, had had a penchant for keeping perfect attendance. No doubt, this goody-goody trait had been passed along to Leonhart Jr.

Scoffing, Lore pointed out, "I can't just leave. Besides, I have soccer practice later."

"Well if Daddy wouldn't approve, then suit yourself," Seifer goaded. He knew he had struck a nerve. Lore had developed a pet peeve against his comments about being a mama's boy.

The silence that followed was full of hesitant debate. Seifer grinned, knowing he had convinced the kid to play truant. He wondered what Leonhart would think of his bad influence?

"Screw it," Lore declared, unable to mask his excitement. "I'll be there in twenty minutes."

Seifer's grin broadened. "Make it ten."

"Asshole," Lore muttered.

Seifer could hear the kid smiling. "Chicken-shit," he returned succinctly.

This concluded the conversation, their insults acting as a sort of parting. It was the sort of banter that served to bind their understanding of each other. It lacked true maliciousness, and could almost be considered affectionate. It was not affectionate though. They still annoyed the hell out of one another.

Seifer was almost as eager to see the kid use a gunblade as Lore was to wield one. Over the past few weeks, his expectations had risen. He was hopeful that the boy would have a talent for it. There were too few gunbladists in the world, and even fewer who had any real skill. Lore certainly came from the right gene pool.

In all their sparring, the boy had never once mentioned enrolling in Garden. Seifer intended to bring it up as soon as he could judge the kid's potential for the blade.

--

With every step, the team of seventeen drew closer to the other side of the island. It would take an estimated six days to reach the shore.

Irvine had mellowed by the forth week, when it had become clear that no matter how sexually frustrated any of the men might be, their eyes held nothing but respect for the commander. He remained on guard, shadowing Squall every spare moment, but he no longer leveled a gun on anyone that approached the commander's tent.

Dannis was another issue. Irvine and the redheaded fighter clashed heads on a daily basis. They exchanged heated words and were precariously close to settling their score with violence.

The rest of the team found Dannis and Irvine's display entertaining. When they settled around the campfire, they listened to the remarks exchanged and placed bets on when the gunman would snap and pull the trigger. Dannis was the hothead, but Irvine took it personal.

Squall would have reprimanded the two, but Dannis was actually doing him a favor by occupying the gunman's attention.

For the past week, the temperature had been unbearably hot. The group stayed close to any streams they found, refilling water nearly twice as often as before. Many of the men had opted to alter their fatigues, and Squall didn't protest the minor breach in protocol. Sleeves were torn off and some went shirtless, but the alterations did little to combat the fervid heat.

Squall's core body temperature generally ran a degree or two lower than average. The heat didn't usually bother him, but it had a sickening affect on him this time. He felt nauseous through the early parts of the day. By noon, after walking a few miles, he could hardly remember the feeling of his upset stomach.

On a few occasions, he had excused himself and actually been sick. To the team, he simply looked a bit paler than usual. Unfortunately, Irvine's sharp eyes could not be deceived. One morning, the gunman had approached him after he had upheaved his meager breakfast.

"You're sick," Irvine observed, keeping his distance as the brunet buried all evidence.

Squall didn't respond. Anyone with eyes could tell he had been sick. If there were any cause for alarm, he would have consulted the gunman. The heat had simply gotten to him. He was thirty-five and practically retired. His body had grown accustomed to a soft bed and air conditioning. The rough living had taken its toll, but his body could handle the wear. If he continued to be sick, then he only needed to hold out a few more days, a week at the most.

Irvine pressed the issue, asking, "Are you okay?" He kept his tone casual. Expressing too much concern would cause the commander to close up completely.

"Fine," Squall said. Uncapping his canteen, he took a swig and rinsed his mouth out. After spitting the water out, he stood up.

Irvine winced at the commander's response. That single word spoken with trademark stoicism had been the bane of countless inquiries. He might do better interrogating a brick wall.

Together, they returned to camp. Squall didn't need to order Irvine to secrecy. Discretion was understood. Unless he became seriously sick, there was no need to inform the others. When they were so close to the other side of the island, he didn't want trouble within the ranks.

Six days was the official count down, barring any unexpected surprises. As the sun set and the winds shifted direction. Salty seawater gave the muggy air a cool tang. It made them all jittery to know they were closing in on their target.

With the exception of the T-Rex, the mission had gone smoothly. Time had been wasted hiking the ridge and zigzagging their way down again, but time was all they lost.

Mercenaries were superstitious by nature, and all of them waited with bated breath, anticipating some major attack before their final day. It was the way of the world. Nothing went smoothly. A perfect mission was a failed mission.

Even Squall kept on high alert, turning sharply at noises in the jungle that he wouldn't have paid attention to before. If there were monsters worse than a T-Rex, they would have already encountered them, yet there was a pervading unease.

When Dannis and Irvine settled their nightly bickering by glaring at one another across the fire, the others began talking about their tattoos. It was a subject they had already rehashed several times over, but they came back to it to keep their minds occupied.

Squall thrived on silence, but the others grew uneasy when the jungle became mute at night. It was noisy in the middle of the night, but just after twilight, the shadows surrounding their camp seemed to absorb noise.

To combat the oppressive quiet, the men talked. Squall listened absently. The chatter was relaxing in its own way. The team had learned not to engage him in conversations. Sometimes he heard what they said, and other times his thoughts drifted.

That particular night, his thoughts were far away. He felt worlds away from home, but his thoughts kept a strong connection. Thinking about Seifer, his mind pulled forth memories from their final moments together. Unconsciously, he set his hand on the side of his neck, where the ex-knight had marked him. His fingers squeezed, as though massaging a sore muscle. A shiver ran through his body. Tumbling deeper into the sensation, his head filled with images. He was greedy for the arrogant man's company, and more so for the feel of heated lips and strong arms.

It was then that Squall noticed the lapse in conversation. Attention fixing on Irvine, he realized the gunman was watching him. Not just Irvine, but everyone else as well.

"You okay?" Irvine asked.

The commander seemed to be shivering, but the heat was ungodly.

Blushing, Squall ducked his head and stood up. Making for his tent, he mumbled over his shoulder, "Fine." He wasn't fine though. It would be another night with a throbbing ache burning inside him.

--

Lore made his way to Seifer's office on the fifth floor. He knew the training center like the back of his hand. Every corridor and room was mapped out in his head. Despite being the youngest person there, he felt that he belonged.

Weeks ago, when he had first visited, the place had been under construction. He'd been embarrassed and self-conscious, imagining that all the workers eyes were on him. Seifer had yelled at the crewmen, though he never could decide if it had been on his behalf or if the ex-knight didn't want slackers on his payroll.

He knew the names of various trainers, though he never worked with them. Seifer had offered to let them teach him once, but the man had repeatedly interrupted the session, not agreeing with whatever direction the trainer gave him. After that, it was always Seifer he met with.

At times, Lore suspected that the ex-knight actually enjoyed teaching with him. In the end, he could only conclude that they were both searching for a distraction.

As he entered the outer office, Lore found the secretary's desk empty. The door to Seifer's office was open, so he went in on his own.

In Seifer's office, Lore found the missing secretary. She leaned over the blond's shoulder while gesturing to something on the paper Seifer held. Her blouse fell open to reveal an ample amount of her chest. If the ex-knight were to turn his head, his eyes would be level with her cleft.

Lore glared at the display, immediately suspicious. He didn't recognize the woman. Maurine was Seifer's usual secretary, a competent middle-aged woman capable of putting up with an egomaniac like the ex-knight. This woman had dark blonde hair that fell in wavy curls. One tendril currently brushed against Seifer's shoulder. She appeared to be in her early twenties. Her small round face was attractive. She was beautiful, in a high maintenance kind of way.

When Seifer said something to her, his eyes still glued to the paper, she leaned a fraction of an inch closer. Her arms tightened against her sides, pushing her breasts together so that they swelled.

Lore blushed, but was less affected by the woman herself than he was with how he read the situation. Clearing his throat, he announced his presence. Seifer didn't bother looking up from the paper.

The secretary gave a start and straightened. "Please wait outside," she said. "Do you have an appoint-"

Seifer raised a hand and cut her off. "The kid's fine," he announced.

After a moment of study, the woman's eyes widened in recognition. She seemed on the verge of speaking, but instead hastened from the office with curious glances at Lore.

Lore knew that look of recognition. She realized he was the president's grandson.

Seifer finally looked up.

"I thought you were taking off work early," Lore said accusingly.

"I am," Seifer returned, eyeing the boy with curiosity. The kid was pissed about something, but he couldn't take enjoyment if he didn't know what he had done to earn such an angry look.

"Who was she?" Lore asked, gesturing out the office door.

Quirking a wry brow, Seifer pointed out, "The secretary."

"No shit," Lore muttered. "What happened to your other secretary?"

"She called in sick," Seifer said. Standing, he loosened his tie. "Would you like to bring her a bowl of chicken soup, or can we get going?"

Standing firm, Lore brazenly asked, "Are you sleeping with her?"

Brows rising in surprise, it was a moment before Seifer realized what the boy was upset over. Laughing when he finally understood, he sat back down and let his amusement run its course.

"I'm not joking," Lore hissed.

"I know," Seifer assured. "That's why it's so funny."

"She was all over you just now," Lore declared, loud enough for the woman to hear outside the office. "Don't deny it."

Smirking, Seifer held his hands up and gave a look of mock innocence. "I can't help it if I'm too sexy for women to resist. But the thing to remember is that she was the one trying to get my attention. Trust me, my standards are higher than her."

With crossed arms and a sulking expression, Lore said, "She's very pretty."

"Easy there, jailbait," Seifer muttered. "If you're looking for someone to hook up with, try your own cohort."

"That wasn't what I meant," Lore declared, growing flustered. He couldn't keep from blushing at the ex-knight's implication.

"Hyne, you're innocent. When was the last time you got laid?"

Flushing darker, Lore glared. "Screw you!"

"Don't tell me," Seifer began, green eyes gleaming with mischief, "you're a vir-"

Lore cut the ex-knight off. "If you say it, I'll kill you." Turning, he stalked from the office. Over his shoulder, he called, "Hurry the hell up."

Seifer doubled over with laughter, unable to contain himself.

--

Gorton burst into the camp, gasping for air. "Commander!" he cried, choking as he inhaled sharply.

Squall dropped the rag he was using to oil his gunblade. Sheathing the weapon, he stood and crossed the campground to reach the freckled faced young man.

Irvine joined Squall while the others crowded close.

"Report," Irvine prompted. The young man would have plenty of time to catch his breath after he told them what the trouble was.

"T-Rex," Gorton said, gesturing wildly with his hands. "It came out of nowhere. Dannis told me to come back. He's drawing it away from camp."

"Where?" Lieutenant Shripe asked.

Pointing into the thicket of plants he had just rushed through, Gorton said, "Three miles east."

"Where is the rest of your group?"

"We split up. There was fruit the others wanted to pick. Dannis and me were getting water."

Irvine looked to Squall. In the time that Gorton had spent running back to camp, it was unlikely that Dannis could have outrun a T-Rex. Facing it alone was suicide. The grim expressions on everyone's face acknowledged that Dannis was probably already dead.

"Kinneas, Shripe, and Felix, you're with me," Squall ordered. He gave no further direction, but started forward.

Irvine glanced over his shoulder at the group of stricken faces. "You heard him," he barked. Felix and Shripe were already suiting up. Not waiting for them, he ran after the commander.

Squall ran as fast he could on uneven terrain. Precious time was wasted in climbing over obstacles and circumventing trees. A pang of panic coursed through him. The odds were against Dannis surviving, and more so against him reaching the boy in time.

Fearing that the foolhardy young fighter had acted brashly because of him, he pushed himself to go faster. He had issued a challenge when Dannis persisted in knowing about his scar. Dannis had jumped at every chance to fight, taking a lion's share of kills. Squall had assumed that the boy's eagerness in battle a response to his rejection, and he had hoped it wouldn't go any further.

Urged forward by concern and the weight of responsibility, Squall began to despair reaching Dannis in time. He needed to move faster.

Gritting his teeth, he accepted the reality that he wasn't fast enough. A desperate and foolish idea came to mind. Coming to a dead halt, he decided to take a shot in the dark. Even if he hadn't fully processed the consequences, he knew that there was no other option.

Squall touched the tips of his fingers to his forehead and shut his eyes. Reaching inside himself, he summoned Diablo. Seconds later, the dark winged demon fluttered in the air and came to settle on the ground in front of him. Jaw clenched, he steeled himself for what came next. Regarding the demon sternly, he stared into burning red eyes. "I need your help," he said.

The demon rolled his head and flapped his wings. There was no need to make a request for help when he was bound to follow his host's every order.

Swallowing thickly, Squall stood his ground and tapped his fingers against his forehead once more. He unjunctioned Diablo, releasing the tether that connected them.

Diablo jumped back and crouched low. Casting his head up, he emitted a guttural growl and seemed on the verge of attacking.

Squall kept very still. Other GFs would have disappeared, returning to where their slumbering bodies were stored throughout the world. When they were junctioned, they were only spirits.

Diablo was different. He was not a spirit and his corporal body was not safely detached. When he answered a call, he came in flesh and bone. Once unjunctioned, he needed to be stored in the lamp or junctioned to someone else. Otherwise, he was free to run rampant.

Across from Squall, the demon was now unbound. If Diablo desired, he could attack. Squall had beaten him once, and could do so again. But he needed the creature's cooperation. While junctioned, he couldn't keep Diablo summoned for very long, and this was what he required.

As precious seconds ticked by, Diablo tested Squall. He stalked back and forth, trying to provoke a fight. Squall stayed perfectly still.

Red slits narrowed, becoming thin gashes on a black face. A wrinkled black snout gave a snort while sneering razor teeth clacked. One taloned foot stepped forward, followed by the other. Diablo approached slowly, his bulky frame eerily graceful.

Squall struggled to keep from drawing his gunblade. The instinct was strong, but his resolve was stronger. His expression remained unchanged and his gaze resolute. The demon towered before him, standing twice his height.

A claw-like hand reached out, the space between them a scarce two feet. The hot press of a rough, leathery palm met Squall's pale cheek. The creature's hand was larger than his head. Dangerously sharp nails ghosted the skin behind his ear and along the side of his neck. If the demon applied a little more pressure, it could easily slice open his jugular. When his pulse quickened, the gleam of amusement in glowing red eyes told him that the change had been noted.

Just then, shouts reached him from behind. Irvine was first in sight. Lieutenant Shripe and Felix soon after the gunman.

"Squall!" Irvine shouted. He stopped short, a look of awed horror on his face. Leveling the demon with his long barreled rifle, he cried, "Get away!"

Not moving, Squall kept his back turned to the gunman. "I asked for his help," he explained, the calmness in his voice hiding his uncertainty.

"You unjunctioned it?" Irvine asked incredulously. "Are you insane?"

"Commander," the lieutenant spoke up, "it'll as soon kill you as help you. Back away."

Irvine assured, "I've got a clear shot."

It _was_ insane, and it was also the only way. "Stand down," Squall ordered. Dannis was a hotheaded recruit who deserved to lose a few fights in order to gain some humility, but there was a vast difference between defeat and death. The boy might be fine on his own, able to ferret away into a secure hiding place, but a T-Rex would rage and stampede until Dannis came out again. There was also a chance that the T-Rex would attract other monsters, making a hunting party. Swift action was best, and this is what Diablo could provide.

Irvine shook his head, though the commander couldn't see the gesture. "Sorry," he said. He took his shot, not willing to follow an order that clearly put Squall's life in danger.

The shot aimed true, but Diablo shielded himself with a swift reflex. The bullet struck the hard outer shell of black bone, ricocheting off his elbow.

In the next second, Squall's vision tilted as he was swept clean off his feet. His hand was on the hilt of his sword, but he realized what was happening before he drew the weapon. Diablo had picked him up, holding him in one arm like a child might hold a doll.

There was a torrent of wind that blinded Squall for a moment. He felt the jolt as Diablo leapt into the air. Large wings flapped in heavy convulsions, and he knew they had risen high. Squirming against the creature's hold, he struggled to see down below. A clawed hand pressed the back of his head, pushing his face against the corded muscle of the demon's neck. A bullet whizzed by, and he realized that Diablo was trying to shield him.

Moments later, the creature's hold eased and he was allowed to look below. They were out of range. He was too consumed with concern for Dannis to care that Irvine had defied his order. He would have done the same if anyone he cared about had acted so foolishly. The lieutenant was right. Though Diablo had decided to help, he might just as soon decide to drop him and let him fall to his death.

Squall thought to tell Diablo where to go, but the roar of the T-Rex reached them. They were already close. The demon's speed was deceiving. The wind was harsh against his face, blasting his hair in disarray, but he was tucked against Diablo's chest and couldn't feel the full force of air.

Directly below, Squall spied the T-Rex's trail, visible only in patches through the canopy. The monster had flattened a wide trail, making it easy to track. It led southeast, away from camp.

Dannis had enough sense not to draw trouble to the team, but Squall cursed the boy's stubborn pride that didn't let him ask for their help. Seifer would have done the same, taking the fight on alone. If Dannis were truly like Seifer, then he wouldn't be killed so easily, but it was only a matter of time. A T-Rex with a vendetta could not be outlasted.

Dannis had taken refuge inside the crevice of a warped tree trunk. It was a temporary solution. The T-Rex batted against the trunk like ram, each smash rocking the tree violently. The leaves and branches shivered, and the base began to lean to the side. The T-Rex would soon uproot the entire tree.

When they were directly overhead, Diablo dropped a wing and maneuvered in spiraling circles. Just before they breached the canopy, the demon folded his wings. The dropped was sudden. Squall's stomach gave a weightless lurch. Anchoring himself, he wrapped an arm around Diablo's thick neck. With a final glimpse of blue sky, his vision became a blur of green. He wanted to look below, but branches snapped around them as they plummeted like a bullet. Something caught his cheek, making a shallow cut. He complied when the demon pressed his head down and covered his face with a large hand. Squall's heart thrummed a rapid beat, thumping harder as they neared the ground.

Diablo favored aerial attacks. Using the force of the fall, he aimed at the dinosaur's head, just like with the last T-Rex he had fought. A single well-placed blow could stun the monster and buy time.

Squall anticipated the impact, but the force still came as a surprise. Diablo struck down hard, landing squarely on the T-Rex's back. The force rent through Squall's entire body, knocking the wind out of him. The T-Rex roared in pain and stumbled sideways.

Diablo jumped into the air and landed several yards away. Squall tumbled from the demon's hold, managing to land on unsteady feet. He drew his gunblade and faced the dinosaur. The monster had already recovered and was charging towards them.

Rocking to the balls of his feet, Squall raised his blade and prepared to sprint. Diablo launched forward to meet the raging beast, oblivious to the concept of teamwork. Changing his stance, Squall crouched low and waited for the opportunity to join the fight.

Steely blue eyes made a quick study of the small clearing. The air was thick with magic, heaviest with sleep spells. There were lingering tendrils that threatened to make him yawn, but he fought the magic's hold.

"Commander!" Dannis shouted, slipping out from the tree's trunk. Slinking around the clearing, he gave the T-Rex a wide birth as he edged towards the slim figure of his commanding officer. For a distracted moment, he stared at the commander in awe, his mind replaying images of the man flying in on the wings of a demon. The vicious thrashing of the T-Rex quickly reclaimed his attention.

Squall's mind spun in fast revolutions, forming a plan. The T-Rex was clearly immune to sleep spells. Wary that the creature might be a higher level than the other T-Rex, the smartest tactical maneuver was retreat. They wouldn't be able to run very far, but maybe far enough to meet with Irvine and the others.

It wasn't until Dannis was closer that Squall noticed a limp. Blood soaked one of the young man's pant legs. At his right thigh, a broken branch piece protruded from torn fatigues. Until the wound was healed, running was not an option.

Stopping a few yards short of the commander, Dannis turned towards the bloodthirsty dinosaur and took a fighting stance that favored his uninjured leg. Holding his broadsword aloft, he struggled to keep a centered balance.

Diablo seemed to be dancing. Leaping in high bounds, he clawed and kicked the T-Rex. If the dinosaur lashed back, he would spread his wings and fly just out of reach. Squall had the distinct impression that Diablo was teasing the monster.

While Diablo kept the enemy occupied, Squall's focus shifted to Dannis. The boy couldn't fight in such a state. Adrenaline could give a fighter a strong edge, but it would not win the fight. There were traces of a cringe on Dannis face. Pain meant that the adrenaline has already run its course.

Stabbing his blade into the ground, Squall approached Dannis. "Sit," he ordered, appearing wholly oblivious to the violent clashing of talons and claws directly behind him.

"Commander," Dannis protested.

Having little patience in such a situation, Squall promptly kicked the boy's good knee out. Dannis tumbled backwards, landing with a cry of pain. Ignoring the large redhead's injured plight, Squall knelt down.

Dannis gazed in mystified anger as the commander knelt between his legs. Propped back on his hands, he sat up, suddenly feeling too close to the smaller swordsman. The commander was practically in his lap.

"This'll hurt," Squall warned, his tone bereft of emotion. Not waiting for a reply, he set a bracing hand on Dannis' muscular thigh and took hold of the protruding branch with his other hand. He pulled hard. There was a sickening squelch as the shard came loose.

Crying out, Dannis clutched the commander's shoulder. Blood gurgled from the wound, spilling out fast.

With a silent apology, Squall plunged two fingers inside the wound and felt around for splintered pieces. There was only one, so far as he could tell, and he managed to pull it out cleanly. The boy was bruising his shoulder, but it was some consolation to know that Dannis had that much strength left.

Tapping bloodied fingers to his forehead, Squall conjured a healing spell. Speaking the words soundlessly, his lips moved and torn flesh healed in an instant.

Relief was slow. Even after his wound was healed, Dannis still felt the pain. There was no time for pain though. Over the commander's shoulder, the T-Rex had broken past Diablo and came stomping towards them. The use of magic had reminded the T-Rex of their presence.

Squall felt the earth quake and realized they needed to move. Before he could roll away and grab his sword, Dannis surged forward and tackled him to the ground. There was a loud whooshing sound as the dinosaur's tail sliced the air above their heads. The swipe missed Dannis' by mere inches. Squall was safely pinned beneath the boy.

Wondering if Diablo had finally abandoned him, Squall craned his head back. Though his view was flipped upside down, he saw Diablo's dark form sweeping after the T-Rex. He pushed at Dannis' shoulders until he the boy climbed off him.

Sword in hand, Squall prepared to join the fight. Diablo sensed this and cast a surveying glance his way. The demon retreated, jumping back in high leaps until he stood next to the commander.

If Squall could have seen himself, he would have found the sight comical. Beside Diablo, his stature shrunk. Despite this physical difference, he stood his ground, the fierce steel in his eyes matching Diablo's glowing red slits.

Dannis didn't understand how the commander controlled Diablo without verbal directives, but it was clear that the demon was following orders. Standing at the commander's other side, he tightened his grip on his broadsword.

"Go right on my mark," Squall said under his breath. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dannis nod. He didn't dare to give Diablo any direction.

The T-Rex paused for a moment, seeming to comprehend that its scattered prey had united together. Gouging the ground like a bull, it crouched low. Its massive tail rose into the air, swishing back and forth with a fluidity that was almost taunting.

Steely-grey eyes studied this display. This T-Rex was not the same as the last. It had a greater awareness, which was dangerous. Blind rage was one of the weaknesses that made such creatures conquerable. It was no larger than the other T-Rex, but its hide was a mottled black and brown.

Squall's eyes flickered around the clearing. Such a wide expanse was a rarity in the dense jungle. He wondered if the T-Rex had driven Dannis here on purpose. Among dense clusters of trees, a T-Rex's massive size became an impediment.

"Draw back into the woods if you get a chance," Squall advised.

"Sir?" Dannis intoned.

"It's not a retreat," Squall hissed. "Its tail will be no use with trees around."

Dannis nodded, pleased that they weren't retreating.

Diablo made the first move, jumping to the left side of the clear. For a moment, the T-Rex's head swung towards Diablo, but it abandoned the demon and charged towards Squall and Dannis.

"Now," Squall said.

Running to the right, Dannis forced the T-Rex to choose again between targets.

The dinosaur's sharp teeth gleamed in a sly grin. In a swift move, it ducked low and pivoted around.

"Drop!" Squall shouted at Dannis. As he followed his own direction and fell to the ground, lying as flat as possible, he tapped his forehead and cast Protect on the redhead.

The tip of the T-Rex's tail sawed the air a foot above Squall's backside. Dannis was closer to the monster, but he saw the boy drop and roll out of the tail's way as it came around.

Pushing up from the ground, Squall regarded the T-Rex warily. He sensed the creature's consciousness. It had some knowledge of tactics, and would not let them edge any closer. It would keep them at a distance, using its tail as an impenetrable defense.

Squall didn't doubt that he could slip closer, but he didn't want to underestimate the monster's close range abilities. He would have to rely on magic.

As if agreeing with the commander, Diablo cast Demi.

Hoping to find a weakness, Squall rapidly conjured spell after spell. Lighting seemed to have the most diminishing effect. Dannis used fire, having a smaller reservoir of spells to choose from.

The fight dragged on. Squall and Dannis were pressing their luck each time they dodged the T-Rex's tail. The monster seemed to know this, and never tired of swiping at them. Diablo was able to dart in close, but the T-Rex kept ducking and letting sharp talons scrape against its tough hide. There were visible gashes in the monster's backside, but no blood. The hide was too thick to penetrate.

Squall used the last of his lightening spells and moved on to ice. He targeted the monster's legs, hoping to freeze them in place and give Diablo an opening at a vulnerable point on the dinosaur's body.

Squall's tactic finally paid off. One of the dinosaur's feet caught for a moment, not shattering the ice. As it pulled harder, Diablo lashed at its head.

There was a deafening roar when Diablo struck one of the T-Rex's eyes. Diablo retreated before gnashing teeth clipped his wings. For a brief moment, the T-Rex was stunned and blinded.

Dannis rushed forward. Squall's heart skipped a beat, fearing the monster would recover.

Sprinting after the redhead, Squall yelled for Dannis to move back. Diablo growled and jumped towards the center. The T-Rex seemed to have anticipated this very reaction. Its tail whipped the air, crashing against Diablo.

Arms rising to block the hit, Diablo was unharmed, but still thrown back to the edge of the clearing. The T-Rex moved quick, choosing the next target. Dannis barely had time to realize the danger before the T-Rex's tail came at his head.

Reaching the boy's side, Squall dropped his shoulder and knocked Dannis to the ground. The tackle had its own damages. Squall felt as though he had run into a brick wall. Dazed for a moment, he barely managed to turn in time. Gunblade held out, he gripped the dull side and set the sharpened edge outward to meet the swinging tail. The force threw Squall into the air. The jarring shock vibrated through his arms painfully. His right wrist shattered, and he lost his grip on his weapon. As he watched his blade fall away, he felt dismay fill him. There was a sickening realization that the landing would be harder on his body.

Dannis watched in trepidation as the commander took a hit for him. As though he weighed no more than a rag doll, the blow tossed the slim man back ten yards, crashing against a tree. There was a resounding crack that was most certainly the commander's head hitting the tree's trunk. The commander fell limply to the ground, disappearing into a thicket of vines and plants.

Before Dannis could even react, a piercing cry sounded from the other side of the clearing. Turning sharply, he saw a flash of black bolting towards the T-Rex. Diablo began to thrash the dinosaur, gouging and clawing with a fury.

Dannis ran towards where the commander had fallen. He didn't know how the man maintained such a prolonged summoning, or how Diablo remained unleashed when the host was unconscious, but none of that mattered.

As Dannis neared the tree that had caught the commander mid-flight, he heard a sickening crunch from behind. Glancing back, he felt his stomach tighten as he saw a geyser of blood spurt from the T-Rex's neck. Diablo didn't relent for a moment, even as the T-Rex gave a final pleading roar and collapsed to the ground.

Unable to watch the carnage, Dannis looked away. He had slain his share of monsters, but shredding a corpse to pieces was enough to make him sick.

Near the tree's base, the commander lay in a lifeless heap. Eyes widening at the sight, Dannis felt rising panic. Dropping his blade, he hurried closer. "Commander Leonhart!" he cried, hoping for some faint flicker behind closed eyelids.

The man was curled on his side, dead to the world. Porcelain features were impossibly white, except for a smear of blood on a delicate brow. Dannis couldn't be certain if it was the same smear from when the man used bloody fingers to cast spells or if there was a wound.

Taking a moment to compose himself and gather his concentration, Dannis prepared to cast a healing spell. Before he could say the words, Diablo let off a screech.

He turned, finding the blood soaked demon had taken flight and was headed his way. Realizing the guardian force couldn't possibly be junctioned, Dannis rushed to retrieve his sword.

He took his stance in front of the commander's defenseless form. There was no doubting the angry gleam in the demon's eyes. He ducked the first swipe, but Diablo was quicker and managed to knock him aside with a second swing. He staggered to his feet and rushed back towards the commander. Before he could reach his unconscious leader, the demon scooped the man up and jumped into the air.

Yelling after the demon, Dannis feared that all was lost. Diablo didn't go very far, just far enough to clear the battleground. Dannis was in hot pursuit, never losing sight of his commander.

There was an unmistakable gentleness in how the demon set Squall down, laying him on a bed of plants. Folding his wings, Diablo seemed to grow smaller. The illusion struck Dannis as curious. It was as though Diablo were composing himself so as not to frighten the commander when the brunet opened his eyes. Such a small act did nothing to counter the sight of inky rivulets that dripped from the creature's black skin. Diablo was covered in blood.

Jogging nearer, Dannis warily approached, afraid that the demon would take flight and set down miles away instead of a few yards. Red eyes cast him a warning glance, but Diablo seemed otherwise indifferent to his presence.

Extending a clawed hand, Diablo let it to hover a few inches above the commander's head. There was a faint grayish glow that radiated from the demon's palm. When the glow dissipated, Diablo moved his hand elsewhere, sweeping for other injuries. He ran his hand down over the man's face, then neck and collar. The arms were next. Diablo paused over Squall's right wrist. The glow came again, resetting and mending small bones. Diablo moved on to the torso, pausing once more to heal what Dannis assumed were cracked ribs.

When Diablo reached Squall's abdomen, the demon gave a start. Wings bristling, he let off a low hiss. Dannis gripped his sword tight and edged closer, fearing that the demon would turn on the commander any second. He thought to summon his own GF, but it would be like attacking someone with a drawn bow. The arrow would let loose anyway. Diablo's claws were inches from any number of vital points on the commander's body. A stupid move on his part might get the man killed.

Diablo pressed his hand against the commander's stomach, touching the area as he growled. There was no healing glow. His head tilted curiously, an action that would have been comical if not for the unsettling way red eyes narrowed. Hand brushing against Squall's black fatigues, Diablo extended a single claw and sliced through the shirt like it was butter.

From his place a few feet away, Dannis saw the commander's mysterious scar exposed. The demon had taken an interest in it, not unlike himself.

Suddenly, Diablo's eyes glowed brighter, widening. The demon leaned in close, black snout sniffing along the commander's stomach.

Dannis thought the creature might be preparing to eat the commander. "Get back!" He took a step closer, unwilling to just stand and watch.

"Squall!" Irvine shouted from a distance.

Dannis' kept his eyes focused on the demon and the commander. He could hear the approaching party. Though he hated to admit it, Kinneas would be better able to deal with Diablo. A bullet was quicker than a blade.

Before Dannis even called out to signal Kinneas closer, a gun fired. "Watch it!" he yelled. The bullet had flown by at a range too close to his shoulder for comfort. He didn't trust the gunman's aim.

Diablo didn't even flinch at the warning shot.

Irvine sprinted closer, panting heavily. Taking aim again, he sent another shot at the demon.

This time, Diablo balked. Throwing his head into the air, he jumped back, narrowly avoiding the bullet. Edging away, he began to pace back and forth while emitting a feral growl.

Dannis took the opportunity to approach the commander. He used a phoenix down to revive the man.

Dazed blue-grey eyes opened slowly. Fixing on Dannis, Squall's eyes gained awareness. Sitting up abruptly, he looked about until spotting Diablo. Becoming rigid, he remained seated on the damp ground and stared at the demon. Diablo had ceased pacing and locked eyes with the commander.

A series of shots rang out loudly. Irvine targeted the demon with a vengeance.

Diablo escaped into the air, screeching his curses at the gunman.

Squall tilted his head back and watched Diablo disappear. The demon had fulfilled his request. Letting Diablo go free was a small price to pay.

Irvine jogged closer, his eyes scouring the sky. Falling at Squall's side, he threw his arms around the troublesome commander. "What's wrong with you?" he hissed in reprimand.

Understanding where the gunman's anger came from, Squall accepted the scolding. He set a hand at the man's shoulder, complacent in the embrace.

Irvine interpreted the commander's silence as a sign of well-being. Setting the brunet at arm's length, he scowled. "Next to Quistis, you're supposed to be the smart one."

Squall gave a faint shrug.

Seeing the commander's nonchalant response, Dannis felt heated embarrassment at how worried he had been. He glowered, hating that he was now indebted to the pretty-boy. "I didn't need your help," he muttered sullenly. It was shaming to have someone go to such lengths to save him.

Amusement filled stormy blue eyes. Squall suppressed his laughter. He would expect such an indignant remark from Seifer. The ex-knight would have hated him for playing the part of the rescuer.

"What is this?" Irvine murmured, reaching out and wiping the blood off Squall's brow. He fretted like a mother hen, refusing to allow the commander to stand up until he had checked every inch of the man's body.

In the end, Squall grew weary and cast an unnecessary healing spell on himself. He gave the gunman a look that said, "Happy now?"

Irvine wasn't happy, but he was satisfied that Squall would live. Taking the swordsman's arm, he kept Squall at his side.

Dannis retrieved the commander's gunblade, and they set off towards camp. Squall couldn't keep from scanning the sky every so often, hoping for a glimpse of a black winged creature. Dannis wasn't the only one who felt indebted.

--

Lore was surprised when Seifer led him to the door in the back of the equipment room.

The equipment room nearest the arena's main battleground was full of a variety of weapons. Other equipment rooms had more specific items. Boxing equipment was near the boxing ring, guns and bows near the shooting range.

In this room, swords and quarterstaffs were mounted on the walls. The staffs and wooden practice swords had free access, but the real swords and other bladed weapons were locked behind a bulletproof casing. There were more weapons than Lore could name. He recognized the katals that Kiros used. There were throwing knives, maces, spears, and what looked like Frisbees with razor edges.

Normally, Lore would select a staff and head out to the arena. This time, Seifer bypassed the quarterstaffs and motioned for him to follow.

There was a large steel door at the end of the room. It had a spin wheel in the center and a lock panel. Lore had always it assumed it was a safe for the more expensive and/or dangerous weapons.

"The gunblades are in here," Seifer explained. He keyed in the pass code and turned the wheel like a ship's captain.

"Are you serious!?" Lore exclaimed, unable to contain his excitement. If the ex-knight were showing him the gunblades, then it could only mean one thing.

"Don't piss your pants," Seifer muttered.

There was a loud clicking noise. The door swung open on well-oiled hinges. Bright fluorescent lights flickered on as soon as the door opened all the way.

Lore's jaw dropped as he followed the ex-knight through the door. The backroom was larger than the outer room. Gunblades lined the steel walls to his right and left. Farther back, there were locked cases like safety deposit boxes, and he knew they held more gunblades.

His father owned six or seven blades, five of which the man never used because they were from the war. He had never seen so many gunblades at once. More than that, he hadn't known there were so many different kinds. It was as though the ex-knight had gathered every last gunblade on earth and stored them here.

"What can you bench?" Seifer asked, his eyes scanning the walls as he searched for a model the boy could handle.

"One-fifty easily. One-eighty if I try," Lore responded.

Seifer nodded approvingly. "How much do you know about gunblades?" He would have assumed the kid knew everything considering it was Leonhart's weapon of choice, but he also would have assumed the boy had practiced with a blade before. Being wrong on the second account, he realized he couldn't assume anything about Lore.

"Not much," Lore admitted, almost ashamedly. "I know they're like swords. There are two handed and single handed. They're also like guns. Automatics, semis, revolvers, and different calibers."

"That's something then," Seifer commented.

Lore couldn't help but grin at the sound of approval in the Seifer's voice. He turned away before the ex-knight could see his expression.

Seifer strode to the wall on the left side of the room. After passing several columns, his eyes expertly able to distinguish each gunblade and mark its specific features, he made a selection. He handled the weapon with care and turned it over in his hands while examining its handle and weight. He explained, "There's no law that says you have to stick with the same model, but you generally want to pick what's best for you."

Pausing, Seifer glanced up from the weapon in his hands and locked eyes with the dark haired boy. He continued, "Your dad and I both use a heavier blade. It suits me just fine because I can wield it with one hand. Most people need to use two hands." After another short pause, he stated, "Leonhart is an exception when it comes to choosing a blade that is physically compatible. He's small. Normally, someone his size couldn't even handle a single handed blade with two hands."

Lore's pride swelled.

When Seifer saw that blue-green eyes were wide with reverent awe, he added, "He's stubborn and foolish." With a sardonic expression, he explained, "If you think he's fast when he fights, then you should know that he could be twice as fast if he opted for a lighter blade." He never understood Leonhart's choice in gunblades, but the man's abilities never seemed to suffer for it.

Clearing his throat, Lore clarified, "What you're saying is that my dad is still faster than you using a weapon just as heavy as yours?" A gloating smirk lit his youthful features.

"And his hits are weaker than hell," Seifer rejoined.

The model Seifer held was similar to Hyperion. Hyperion had been his pride and glory during the war, and was currently stashed away in his apartment. Though he thought the kid might prefer a Revolver model like the ones Leonhart favored, he felt certain that Lore would excel with a model closer to his own.

Not feeling his usual inclination for insults, Seifer stayed on task. "You won't be firing the gun anytime soon, so it's mostly about the blade itself."

"Is that a two handed one?" Lore asked, eyeing the weapon in the ex-knight's hands.

With a grumble of confirmation, Seifer offered the gunblade out.

Hesitant, Lore looked into jade-green eyes for confirmation that he could touch it. Seifer gave him a small nod. He stepped closer and gingerly wrapped his hand around the handle. His hand molded perfectly against the smooth curves and finger grooves. It was like slipping on a fitted glove. Wrapping his other hand around his first, he lifted the blade. It was heavy.

Seifer reached out and grabbed the sheath. The cover gave a low hiss as it slid from polished metal. The boy tensed at the sight of the gleaming silver blade. "Not all two handed blades are the same weight. You can go heavier or lighter." Seeing the uncertainty in the boy's eyes, he added, "You have to get a feel for it. Learn the basics with all of them first."

Lore nodded. The blade itself was roughly three feet long, an additional six inches extending from the gun's hilt. The width wasn't more than a foot at its widest section.

Seifer slipped the sheath back into place. Returning to the same wall, he lifted the gunblade mounted above the empty space where he had taken the other one. Slinging it over his shoulder, he made for the door.

"Let's go," Seifer called over his shoulder. "It's time for you to become a man." With a dark chuckle, he hinted at his earlier insinuation that the kid was a virgin.

Though Lore glared at the blond, he followed excitedly.

--

Lore was attentive to every word of Seifer's instructions. As their session progressed, there was a notable absence of taunting and snide comments. One of the first rules Seifer had explained was that he couldn't lose his temper until he knew what he was doing. A clumsy swing driven by anger was likely to hurt himself more than an opponent. The man refrained from behaving like a jerk in order to let him concentrate. Later, he would realize that it was the first considerate act he had ever witnessed in the ex-knight.

Having been there since one o'clock, it was nearly midnight when Seifer called an end to their session. Lore had done little more than practice stances and swings. They hadn't actually sparred, but Lore had enjoyed their time so much that he had to consciously keep from grinning. His anxiety over using an actual blade had disappeared. He had been confident that even if he messed up, the ex-knight was watching too closely to let anything happen.

As they walked back to the equipment room, Seifer asked a question that had been nagging him for the past week. "Why aren't you enrolled in Garden?" The kid definitely had the gift for the gunblade. The boy's swings were controlled and accurate, something that took months of training to achieve.

Lore appeared surprised at the notion. "Why would I be?"

Seifer gave the kid a reproving frown. "You don't take something this seriously unless you're interesting in taking it further. It's obvious you want to be a fighter."

"No," Lore refuted. "I'm not a fighter."

Roguish features darkened with confusion. Seifer continued to frown as he studied the boy's innocently relaxed expression. "Bullshit," he said.

A mixture of confusion and surprise entered blue-green eyes.

Seifer saw that there was also doubt in those eyes. "You wouldn't be here if you weren't a fighter."

"I'm not SeeD," Lore insisted. His firm tone masked his uncertainty. He had always held a secret desire to follow in his father's footsteps, but it was impossible. Becoming a mercenary would place him in his father's shadow, and there was no chance of measuring up. There was too much expectation involved. His father had never encouraged him to enroll in Garden, and he had never raised the subject. He was meant for a common life. College came after high school, not covert missions in remote parts of the world. His greatest aspiration was to play soccer on a college team.

"Why not?" Seifer pressed. "Why aren't you SeeD?" It was a waste, and he didn't like it.

Becoming flustered, Lore didn't know why the ex-knight was pushing the topic. "Because, I can't. I'm not my dad."

Speaking strictly as Leonhart's rival, not a lover, Seifer declared, "No shit. If you were a carbon copy of Leonhart, I wouldn't suggest enrolling. The world doesn't need another candy-ass hero."

Lore was too surprised to defend his father. He stared, bewildered eyes unable tell if Seifer were serious.

"You can't tell me there's anything you're more interested in."

"Soccer," Lore stated.

Seifer's eyes took on a sharper edge. Even if it were a lie, it was insulting to imply that a sport was more important than fighting. "Soccer?" he queried in a disdainful tone. "Then why are you here instead of at practice?"

Lore appeared abashed. Seifer had cut straight through, striking a nerve.

"We're done," Seifer said, a note of finality suggesting that it wasn't just for the day.

"What?" Lore intoned. "What do you mean? Done for good?"

"Yes," Seifer confirmed. "I'm not wasting my time teaching you if you're just going to end up kicking a ball around a soccer field."

"Then why did you teach me this whole time?" Lore lost his grasp on his earlier excitement. The experience of holding a gunblade turned sour.

"I thought you planned on being a cadet," Seifer said. It was the truth. "Fuck it if you're not using it for something. I get why Leonhart never showed you how to use a gunblade. If you're not going to take it as far as you can go, you don't deserve to touch one."

Eyes narrowing, Lore proposed, "What if I did become SeeD?"

"Then we could keep going," Seifer reasoned. "But I'll be damned if I let some punk touch a real weapon when he's half-assed about it." Seeing turmoil in the kid's eyes, he added, "If you change your mind, you know where to find me." It was an ultimatum, but he felt justified in giving it. He wouldn't have been so invested in teaching Lore if he thought all his lessons would go to waste.

Lore's heart sank as Seifer walked away. Glaring, he resented both the ex-knight and himself. He hadn't realized how eager he had become to learn from the man. Someone like the ex-knight could never understand how he felt. He could practice using the gunblade as a hobby, but if he specialized in the weapon and became a mercenary, he would constantly be compared to his father.

--

Lore couldn't stop brooding over what Seifer had said to him. He retreated to the presidential palace, seeking his grandfather's company.

At breakfast the next morning, Lore asked his grandfather's advice. They sat together at a small table in the president's private quarters. "Do you think it's weird that I never tried to enroll in Garden?"

Laguna gave his grandson a wide-eyed look of innocence. "Yes, it's a little strange," he answered bluntly.

Taken aback, Lore stared in surprise. "What? You never said so before."

Laguna shrugged. "You never asked me before."

Groaning, Lore's shoulders slouched in defeat. "Seifer won't let me learn how to use a gunblade unless I decide to be a fighter."

"Seifer?" Laguna remarked with surprise.

Nodding morosely, Lore explained, "He was training me, until he got pissed for no reason and told me not to come back unless I decided to dedicate my entire life to fighting."

Laguna hummed knowingly. "I see," he murmured. A warm expression tugged his lips into a smile. He hadn't expected the ex-knight to comply with his meddlesome request.

"You don't agree with him, do you?"

Humming again, Laguna nodded. "It's a serious thing. You don't just wake up one morning and decide to take up the gunblade. You won't find any trainer who would consider putting in their time and effort to train someone that wasn't dedicated."

"I am dedicated," Lore refuted. "But that doesn't mean I don't have other priorities."

"I think your father would agree with Seifer," Laguna admonished, drawing a rueful look from the boy. "It's a way of life, not a sport."

It was then that Lore realized he had been treating his training as though it were soccer practice. His father's skill with the gunblade could not be trivialized like that. "Something like that…" he began, not knowing what he wanted to say. Frowning, he gave his grandfather a pleading look. "Does it have to be all or nothing? I want to learn how to fight, but I don't belong in Garden."

Bewildered, Laguna returned, "What do you mean you don't belong?" He had never heard such a false statement. By breed alone, his grandson was built to be a fighter.

"Dad doesn't want me to," Lore said.

"He doesn't?" Laguna gave his grandson a penetrating look.

Fidgeting, Lore revised, "He never said I should. If he thought it was a good idea, wouldn't he have said so?"

"Your dad is wary of putting ideas in your head. He's not going to encourage you to do something unless he sees that it's something you want to do. Have you ever asked him about enrolling?"

Lore shook his head. He had just assumed his father would reject the idea. "He wouldn't want that for me," he concluded. "He wouldn't want me living in his shadow."

Hazel-green eyes sharpened. "Squall's not a coward," Laguna stated. "He certainly wouldn't have a coward's reason for advising his son."

Lore felt the sting of his grandfather's words. It was a harsh reprimand. "You mean I'm a coward?"

Expression softening, Laguna reached out and tousled raven lock. "No," he assured. "I'm saying that it would be cowardly if you didn't try something just because you thought you'd have a tough time."

Lore swallowed thickly, not at all comforted by his grandfather's assurance. In that moment, he realized the true nature of all his excuses. There was fear and self-pity, and a tiny amount of resentment towards his father.

"I gotta go," Lore said, slipping from his seat.

"You just got here. I didn't see you last night when you came in," Laguna protested.

"Sorry."

"Where are you going?"

Lore already had his cell phone out. Over his shoulder, he answered, "I have to see Seifer."

Pleased and dismayed at the same time, Laguna watched his grandson rush off.

--

Squall hadn't anticipated earning Dannis' favor. Given the young man's reaction after their second T-Rex encounter, he had expected to receive twice as many glares as usual. It came as a surprise when Dannis turned over a new leaf. The boy followed at his heels, parodying the gunman. The friction between Dannis and Irvine heightened as a result.

Dannis feigned ignorance to his past contempt. Somehow, he was the same recalcitrant cadet, but it was clear that he had come to accept the commander as his superior.

Squall didn't prefer this change to the stony glares and borderline insubordination, but he wasn't complaining. Unfortunately, Irvine's overbearing protectiveness had cycled back to day one. Squall was lucky if he had two minutes alone. Dannis wasn't the sole cause for Irvine's close watch. His reckless behavior in unjunctioning Diablo had reinforced the notion that he needed to be guarded.

There was something else in the gunman's behavior that had changed since the incident with Diablo. Squall perceived a strange sharpness was in the gunman's eyes. At times, when Irvine watched him, it was as though the man were searching for something.

The team found the new dynamic highly amusing. New bets were placed on whether Irvine would kill Dannis before they reached the beach.

A heavy rain delayed their progress by a day, but it brought cooler temperatures. Squall's nausea passed, and his final few mornings were pleasanter for it.

When the sea was all they could smell in the air, they knew the mission would be over by morning. They spent one last night together.

Dannis speculated on future missions, automatically assuming he would accompany the commander on all sorts of adventures.

When asked directly about his next mission, Squall didn't answer. He didn't know what the future held. The island was surprisingly tame and would serve as a viable docking point. No extermination would be needed, which meant plans for the new garden facility could launch immediately. He imagined that he would be back doing paperwork and strategic planning.

Torn on his prospects for future excursions, Squall felt the rift grow between two halves inside him. It was a deep gulf, both sides running to the very core of his being. All his life he had been a fighter, but sixteen years ago he had also become a father. There was a free spirited joy he felt while fielding missions, but there was also a hollow ach that reminded him that something was missing. Homesickness set in at the start of every mission.

By the morning of his thirty-ninth day on the island, he longed to see his son again. There was Seifer too. His chest tightened when he thought of the arrogant ex-knight and his body yearned for the man. Cold dunks in the streams had done little to abate the heat that gathered inside him.

Even as he opened his eyes to a dawn light, his first thoughts were of Lore and Seifer. Sleep had come sparingly, and he suspected his thoughts had been centered on home the entire night, causing him to toss restlessly.

As they tore down their camp for the last time, Squall couldn't keep his thoughts inline. Everything kept coming back to Seifer, Lore, and Laguna. It was with a frown of confusion that he realized his thoughts strayed predominantly towards Seifer. He didn't understand how the man had become a vital part of his life back home.

When he thought of Seifer, there was still the same unyielding attraction. Nothing had changed in the past few weeks.

The closer the team trooped to the beach, the more Squall's thoughts fell away into daydreams. Without the pressing need to concentrate, his fighter half stepped back and allowed for an undeveloped side to push forward. The side that demanded attention was not the father, but a new side.

"No," Squall thought. "Not new." Simply undeveloped and unheard, until now. The feelings it evoked were murky and heavy, a sort of convolution of deep running waters that he couldn't identify or understand. They were the feelings he attributed to Seifer, everything he felt for his childhood rival.

Stormy blue eyes widened in dawning understanding.

A fighter, a father, and now a lover. Cheeks tinged a faint shade of red, Squall cast a cautious glance around, almost afraid that his thoughts could be read by the others. No one noticed his brief lapse. Turning ahead again, his step faltered for a moment. Piercing violet-blue eyes were watching him again.

Giving the gunman an icy look, he buried his thoughts deeper inside his head and refocused on the mission at hand.

They reached the beach by mid-morning. There was nothing else to do except wait for their ride. Though no one was breaking out bottles of Champaign, the mission was essentially over. It was anti-climactic, but there was a collective sigh of relief.

Squall had denied the men permission to go swimming. He eyed the bluffs a quarter mile down the beach, knowing they meant troubled water and an untested riptide. The men had settled on building sandcastles and collecting driftwood to spell out vulgar slang words. It was the sort of childlike mischief and enthusiasm that told Squall his team was in high spirits.

While the others were occupied, even Dannis, Irvine drew Squall aside. They moved behind a row of sand dunes, out of earshot.

Squall waited for the gunman to speak. The calculation and keen attentiveness in the man's regard over the past week had worn at his patience.

Irvine tipped his hat back and inclined his head to the blue sky. Piles of white, anvil shaped clouds lined the horizon at sea, but it was a spotless sky above. Taking a deep breath of salty air, he released it on a heavy sigh. Dropping his gaze to meet the commander's stormy blue eyes, he asked, "Is there something strange going on with you?"

Quirking a brow at the question, Squall studied the gunman. There was worry in the man's expression. It aged the pretty boy gunman's face, putting crows' feet where there had been none. He answered with a shake of his head.

"No morning sickness?" Irvine pressed.

Eyes widening, Squall made no effort to hide his surprise. "Morning sickness?" he repeated, finding it to be a curious choice of words. There was a hidden agenda in violet-blue eyes, but he didn't know what it was. He shook his head again and said, "It's cooled down."

"You still think it was the heat?"

Truly perplexed, Squall remarked, "What else?"

When Irvine dropped his gaze, his eyes disappeared behind the shadow of his hat. There was a long, drawn out minute of contemplation.

Squall remained silent, using the time to gather his emotions and set an indifferent mask in place. A silent alarm went off in the back of his head, telling him the gunman was working up the nerve to say something troublesome.

Seeming to have his thoughts in order, Irvine met Squall's eyes again. "Are you pregnant?" he asked, his deadpan tone painfully forced.

The question didn't sink in immediately. Squall's already impassive expression became even more relaxed. His eyes didn't widen or narrow, but they held wonder. He was too shocked to speak.

"It was morning sickness, wasn't it?"

Hearing the term used again, Squall finally reacted. He blushed at the implication. Before he could refute the trigger-happy cowboy, Irvine continued.

"Diablo did something. I saw it when I caught up with you. Dannis told me more."

"He healed me," Squall said, struggling to make the simple statement. Though he had been unconscious, he had been apprised of the missing details during the walk back to camp.

"Not just that," Irvine said. "He had his head against your stomach. Dannis said something surprised Diablo. That there was something of interest about your scar."

A wave of trepidation washed over Squall. "Why wasn't I told of this?"

Irvine looked away. "If you knew, would you be able to concentrate on the mission?"

Squall felt a surge of cold anger, but it passed quickly. Irvine's eyes were honest. It had been an executive decision, and the right one. Even in his current state of shock, he understood that much. It was impossible that he was pregnant, but he wouldn't rest easy until he saw Dr. Odine. Such a concern would have weighed heavily on his mind, distracting him at critical moments.

"I'm not…" Squall trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. "I'm not," he declared after a moment, turning his unfinished sentence into a statement. He couldn't bring himself to say the word "pregnant". It had become a vulgar word to him, no better than the curses some of the men were trying to spell out in the sand. He had heard it spoken with contempt and disgust by too many people.

"You can't know for sure," Irvine returned.

Studying the fear and concern that filled the gunman's eyes, Squall sighed. "I do know," he reaffirmed.

Voice strained with concealed panic, Irvine argued, "You don't know. Even Odine doesn't know for sure. What if it's Seifer? What if it can happen again because of him?"

There was a flicker of uncertainty in Squall's eyes. Seeing this, Irvine's fears were confirmed.

"You can't know for certain," Irvine reiterated.

Squall knew that there was no convincing the gunman. "Not a word," he said, his stern tone making it an order.

Scoffing, Irvine muttered, "Yeah, because the first thing I want to do is broadcast this to the world."

Squall gave the gunman a sharp look. It was a look that said, "You know what I mean."

Holding his hands up, Irvine conceded, "Mums the word. Just promise me that the first thing you'll do is see Odine."

Squall nodded.

TBC…

Author's note: 0_o

Craziness. Everywhere is craziness. I love that a story can take so many unexpected turns, ending up in better places than I ever planned.

I don't want to give anything away, but it's hard to say nothing when I know how different everyone feels about the whole male pregnancy aspect. For those of you who are turned away by the thought of reading about a nine month pregnant Squall, don't worry. And just for the record, I always intended to come back around and give a little more focus to Squall's pregnancy (there are outstanding issues that Seifer has only gotten hints of). I know some reviewers were getting impatient and upset that I seemed to have left it behind completely (like when I changed the story summary).

On a happy note, I got a beta reader! I've never had my stories beta read before, so yay! Thank you Takayu! I'll be reposting this chapter once it's been polished by Takayu.

Thank you all for the reviews on the last chapter. I look forward to what you have to say about this one.


	45. Chapter 45

Defining Love

Chapter Forty-Five

The exam room was small and private. Aluminum counters and a sink basin gleamed. A long row of cabinets held an array of vials, boxes of medicine, and gauze.

Still in their dark fatigues, Irvine and Squall had wasted no time in getting to the Lunatic Pandora Laboratory. Dr. Odine toddled in a white lab coat that reached his feet.

The doctor hummed to himself several times before Irvine lost his patience. "Well doc? Should I start planning a baby shower?"

"Pregnant?" Odine intoned with surprise, sounding as though he had forgotten his reason for examining Squall in the first place. Furry white eyebrows shooting high, he shook his head. "No, no," he assured. "Mr. Leonhart isn't the least bit pregnant."

Irvine gave the doctor a doubtful look. A person was either pregnant or they weren't. There was no 'least bit' about it. He wondered if he should take Squall for a second opinion. Then again, considering the unique circumstances, there might be room for such things as partial pregnancy or near fertilization.

The gunman shivered at the unpleasant concept of the commander being 'fertilized'. He wanted to slip out of the examination room and hunt the ex-knight down like a dog.

With a sigh, Irvine took a moment to accept Odine's assertion that Squall wasn't pregnant. There was a modest amount of relief in that fact, but there was obviously more to the doctor's findings.

Swiping a handheld device over Squall's exposed abdomen several more times, Dr. Odine's expression scrunched up into a look of deep thought.

"You sure?" Irvine drawled. "You have this look that says there's something going on."

"Yes, something is indeed going on. The sorceress' spell dispersed without a trace sixteen years ago, but here it is, active as ever."

"The spell isn't broken?" Squall questioned, speaking for the first time since taking his place on the examination table.

"It did break, but it seems to have mended." Dr. Odine sounded excited.

"Spells don't mend," Irvine stated.

"Quite right," Odine agreed. "But I'm almost certain the spell ended. It finished its job in any case. It's hard to say anything definitive about such a complex spell. Para-magic has many baffling qualities that continue to evade my understanding. I simply don't know enough to…" The doctor trailed off, his dark beady eyes gleaming as he stared intently at Squall's stomach.

Jaw clenching, Squall sent the doctor an icy look. He wanted to put his shirt back on and wipe the messy slop of clear lubricant off his stomach. He had received a favorable answer to the question that had brought him there, but judging from the perplexed look in Odine's eyes, there were more questions to address. Hearing that Ultimecia's spell was active inside his body did not bode well for anyone.

Before Squall could press for answers, Irvine jumped in. "What's going on inside him? Why is the spell still there?"

"Well," Odine said with a speculative frown, "there could be any number of reasons. If I had been given the opportunity to study Mr. Leonhart's condition sixteen years ago, I might know more now."

"He's not your lab rat," Irvine hissed.

Sitting upright, Squall reached to the counter for the box of tissues. It was apparent that Odine wouldn't find any answers by taking another sonogram. Wiping his stomach clean and slipping into his white t-shirt, he stood from the exam table.

"A few simple tests may tell us more," Odine reasoned.

"Nothing invasive," Irvine said. The gunman knew exactly what Dr. Odine had in mind. Before Lore had been born, the doctor had begged to poke and prod Squall with a number of foreign looking instruments.

Squall gave Irvine a cool glare, reminding the man that while he often opted for silence he was still capable of speaking for himself.

Irvine sighed, realizing he didn't need to be so over protective. He settled for giving one last warning. "Not like last time. Don't keep coming around with weird equipment. And if it's a needle, it better be to take blood, not inject a strange glowing liquid."

Odine shuffled over to his chart on the counter. He cast a crestfallen look toward the president's son, though his attention was directed at the young man's stomach. "As a scientist, I have always mourned the loss of such a unique subject of study."

Arms already crossed, Squall slid them lower to hug his midsection. The doctor's penetrating gaze made him uncomfortable. If given the chance, Odine would gut him open like a fish and study his innards for better understanding of Ultimecia's spell. The fact that he could snap Odine's neck kept the man from doing anything more than a harmless sonogram. Odine was also kept inline by the fact that his father was the president of Esthar. Esthar was the only country in the world at a stage of technological advancement that could sustain Odine's interest. With a faint smile, Squall loosened his arms and let them fall to his sides. He remembered what had happened sixteen years ago, when his friends had rallied against Odine. There was nothing the scientist could do against his wishes, not when so many of Squall's supporters were in positions of power and promised to use violence.

Thinking along the same lines as Squall, Irvine crossed his arms and stood at attention. He eyed the doctor coldly, as though targeting the man through a riflescope. There were no other para-magic specialists qualified to give answers on such a bizarre medical anomaly, but that didn't give Dr. Odine the upper hand.

Seeing that his regiment of tests would be limited to blood work, Odine leveled with the former commander. "I don't know enough to give you the answers you want. Without a proper examination, I can't even begin to understand how the spell became active again."

A nagging concern came forward in Squall's mind. With what little he understood about Ultimecia's twisted aims in impregnating him, he knew that those aims had involved Seifer as much as himself. He could not ignore the fact that spell's recent upstart coincided with another upstart in his life. Turning a somber gaze to the doctor, he asked, "Could there be a catalyst?"

Bushy white eyes brows shot so high they nearly disappeared among frizzy white hair. Behind thick spectacles, Odine's eyes widened with astonishment. "Genius!" he exclaimed. Turning around, he shuffled through pages in a notepad to find a clean sheaf and then began writing furiously. "A catalyst. Why didn't I think of that? It makes perfect sense."

Odine's hand went abruptly still. Looking expectantly at the quiet brunet, he prompted, "What catalyst did you have in mind?"

An abused lower lip slipped free from gnawing teeth as Squall prepared to answer. "Seifer Almasy."

--

Lore didn't know how to break the ice after the way he had left things with Seifer. The man was an arrogant jerk, but even jerks had their moments. Though the ex-knight's moral high ground was still well below sea level, the man had principles.

The issue was clearer once Lore had set aside personal feelings. It wasn't about walking in his father's shadow. It was about becoming a fighter.

Standing outside Seifer's office, Lore cast the dolled up secretary a cursory glance before walking past her desk. Her eyes lifted from her computer screen to follow his progress.

With permission to come and go as he pleased, Lore squared his shouldered and raised his chin. Straightening the smug curl to his lips, he reminded himself that curing the ex-knight's favor not something to be proud of. Once he was certain he didn't appear smug overeager, he knocked.

"Come in," Seifer called gruffly, eyes peering over the top of his laptop's screen. He made no effort to hide his smug amusement at the sight of the raven-haired youth.

Lore offered a stiff, "Hey" and closed the door. Trudging closer, he slung his backpack off his shoulder and set it near the chair before taking a seat. Visiting Seifer's apartment at midnight had seemed extreme, so he had curbed his desire to talk with the man and waited until the next morning. It was almost seven o'clock. His first class didn't start for an hour, but the ex-knight appeared to be well underway with work.

Seifer had misjudged Leonhart's son. He hadn't expected Lore to turn up again. As the boy sat before him, he second-guessed his own conclusions. Annoyed that both generations of Leonharts had a knack for throwing him off his game, his gaze narrowed.

As a result of his annoyance, Seifer's tone was more biting than circumstances warranted. In a sharp black suit, a crimson dress shirt and light grey tie, he exuded an aura of power. The tailored lines of his suit could not hide the mass of muscles beneath. His eyes were sharp and intelligent. It was not difficult to believe that he was as much a force to be reckoned with in a business meeting as he was on the battlefield.

Those sharp eyes pinned Lore in place. In a deep, commanding voice, Seifer said, "Contrary to popular opinion, I don't like to dick around with my time. I'm busy, so spit it out."

Glaring, Lore fought the urge to flip the ex-knight off and stalk from the office. Swallowing his annoyance, he asked in a sulking tone, "What does it take to be SeeD?"

There was silence. Blue-green eyes darted around the room evasively when Seifer didn't respond immediately.

Seifer felt certain the kid could do better. An apology for wasting his time would do for a start. Then he realized that Lore had bypassed an apology on purpose. The intentional omission was the sort of cocky attitude that he would have expected from himself.

A broad grin lit Seifer's face. He couldn't help but find the boy amusing. "A lot more than you have," he quipped.

"It can't take much if they let someone like you in," Lore shot back, cocking a daring eyebrow.

Seifer laughed. He hadn't encountered anyone this feisty since Dincht. It was far more satisfying that slinging remarks at an unresponsive Leonhart.

Huffing, Lore reached up to his necktie and tugged it looser. His eyes flickered to the pristine knot and perfect order of Seifer's tie. He envied the orderly presentation, which made his own appearance look sloppy by comparison. After countless attempts to tie his necktie, he had settled for something barely passable. The knot was either too tight or the lengths wrong. He missed his father's nimble fingers and how perfect the man could tie his ties.

Leaving the knot to hang crookedly, Lore regarded Seifer with a cautious eye. "The training you have in mind," he began, trying to convey his concern without sounding halfhearted, "how extensive is it? Do I have to leave school?" He didn't want to give up soccer either. Not yet. Making soccer his career was just a pipe dream, born from his avid admiration of the Toramas. Though, he harbored serious hopes of playing in college.

Closing his laptop, Seifer gave the boy his full attention. Everyone in Garden had unique backgrounds, but none as unique as Lore's. The boy wasn't being coerced to join military ranks for lack of better options. There was nothing the kid couldn't do in life.

Lore had everything Seifer had only dreamt of as a kid. Money, family, security.

Behind his successful appearance, Seifer was envious. When he was too young to know better, he had fantasized about having a father. Matron had been his mother, but there were times that a boy sorely needed a father. Leonhart fit the bill of his dream father nicely, though he had envisioned someone a bit more rugged. A father that was tough as nails, so he could brag. But also a father who had a soft side, so he knew it was okay to do things like hugging the man. Seifer's chest ached. He yearned to feel Leonhart's delicate fingers running through his hair.

Drawing a sharp breath, Seifer refocused his mind and regarded the raven-haired boy with a thoughtful frown. "No matter which Garden you enroll in, the core requirements are geared towards fighting. You don't know jack about using magic or summoning Guardians. By law, that's not something I can teach you." He didn't give a rat's ass about legality, but Leonhart would fillet him alive for it.

Lore nodded glumly. His mind had reeled with different scenarios all night. His excitement had bubbled until it spilled out of him, but he was quick to remember that becoming SeeD wouldn't be easy. He was discouraged each time he remembered that he was getting a late start. Most first year cadets were fourteen years old. He was already sixteen, a year younger than his father had been during the war.

Seifer eyed the kid's blazer and tie. The school uniform reminded him that sending the kid off to Trabia or Balamb was easier said than done. "How many years do you have left?"

"In high school?"

Seifer made a flicking gesture that told the boy to answer.

"I'm a sophomore, but finals are in a couple weeks."

Nodding, Seifer confirmed, "Two years."

"I think I should finish." Discouragement became dread as Lore realized that graduating from high school was another delay. He would be an eighteen then, well outside his cohort as a first year cadet.

Seifer scoffed. "For the safety of my sex life, I think you should too."

Furrowed brows indicated that Lore didn't understand the comment, but he scowled as it dawned on him.

Laughing, Seifer elaborated, "If Leonhart didn't put you in Garden himself, that means he wants you where you are. I don't need him having a hissy fit about this."

Lore let the lewd comment pass uncontested. "My dad wouldn't mind. He'd support any decision I make."

Skeptical, Seifer studied the conviction in the boy's eyes. "Waiting two years works in your favor. Whether you hop a flight and enroll tomorrow or wait two years, you'll still be green as grass when it comes to magic and summoning. At least if you wait, you can train and be ahead of the curve where it really matters."

Surprise registered in Lore's expression as he listened to the ex-knight's insight. The man was giving the whole thing some serious thought. "And you'd train me?" he hedged. Being ahead of the game when it came to hand-to-hand combat was mildly comforting.

Grumbling a note of discontent, Seifer frowned at the strange mixture of trust and hope in blue-green eyes. He didn't like being the target of any of anyone's trust or hopes. "Watching you putz around with a blade should be funny as fuck," he muttered basely. "Besides, I get to put your training fee on Leonhart's tab. He pays in a currency I can't get anywhere else."

Lore pulled a disgusted face. "That's my dad, you asshole."

Content that the kid wasn't so adoring anymore, Seifer relaxed. "What can I say? I don't do anything for free. I'm not the benevolent sort."

"Clearly," Lore muttered.

A muffled ring tone curtailed any further remark from either one of them. Lore glanced down at his backpack, which slouched against the leg of the chair.

Seifer sat forward. His heart beat against his rib cage.

The ring was generic. It was the ring Lore had set for anyone who wasn't on his speed dial. Lore felt a strange certainty that it was the call he had been waiting for. Seifer seemed to share this odd sensation.

"Answer it," Seifer hissed. His tense form was ready to upheave the entire desk and throw himself at the book bag.

Snapping into action, Lore crouched and roughly unzipped the front pocket.

"Hello?" Lore greeted urgently. The phone was upside down. He fumbled it around into the correct position. "Hello?" he repeated.

"Lore," Squall said, a smile in his tone.

Unashamedly, Lore allowed the edges of his mouth to pull into a wide, goofy smile. He resembled his grandfather when he did this. Shooting up from his seat, he paced away, excitement and giddy relief rushing through him like a torrent. "Hyne, Dad!" he exclaimed, at a complete loss for anything else to say. Just hearing his father's voice after two months was overwhelming.

When Lore turned around and paced back towards Seifer's desk, his steps faltered. The ex-knight's dark expression set him on edge, effectively dividing his attention. He eyed the blond man with uncertainty.

"How are you?" Lore managed to force out, his voice faltering for a moment.

"I'm fine. I'll be home in an hour."

Reaching up, Lore began to tug his tie until the knot slipped free. Skipping school was a given, and a properly tied tie became the lowest priority on his list.

When jade-green eyes met the boy's, Seifer said, "Tell him not to call me."

Surprise became confusion as Lore tried to figure out Seifer's aim. Covering the mouth of his cell, he gave the man an expectant look.

Seifer grumbled his annoyance at having to repeat the order. "Tell Daddy Dearest not to call me."

Still confused, Lore followed the instruction mechanically. "Seifer says don't call him."

There was silence on the other end.

"Any particular reason?" Lore asked, speaking to the ex-knight but also speaking so that his father could hear.

Seifer raked frustrated fingers through his hair. "He'll know why," he asserted. His impatience to see Leonhart had a jittery affect on his body. He stood from the desk and paced to the window, unable to keep still. Knowing that Leonhart had returned to Esthar would make the remainder of the day unbearable.

A quiet voice replied over the still line. "That's best," Squall agreed.

"Dad agrees that it's best," Lore related. "Why don't I just hand the phone over?" he suggested, not understanding Seifer's intentions.

"No," Seifer and Squall said in sync. The surround sound effect gave Lore a small start.

Knowing that he could exert a small amount of restraint while there was still distance separating him from Leonhart, Seifer didn't need his senses toyed with by Leonhart's voice. If he spoke to the swordsman, his restraint would crumble. He would drive like a mad man across the city. And whether family was present or not, he would act on every ounce of lust he had stored inside his body.

Seifer decided that it was best to wait a little longer. "After he's had his hellos with you and Loire, send him to my place." Swallowing his frustration, he added, "I'll give him until eight o'clock."

Scoffing his disapproval, Lore said to his father, "Seifer wants you to come to his house at eight."

"By eight," Seifer hissed in correction. "Come earlier if he can."

"_By_ eight," Lore repeated, throwing the ex-knight a scowl. "I think Grandpa wants to do take out."

Squall's nod was lost over the line. After a pause, he said, "I talked to Grandpa. He's at home already."

"You called Grandpa first?" Lore was surprised, but not offended. Concerned that he had sounded petulant, he added, "Not that it matters."

"Protocol," Squall said, explaining everything in a single word. Standard protocol didn't require him to contact the president, but his visit to Dr. Odine's laboratory had raised a few eyebrows and alerted Laguna. Before Laguna could jump to conclusions, he had spoken with his father to stifle any panic.

It suddenly occurred to Lore that he had a lot to discuss with his father. Casting Seifer a sheepish glance, he felt the first hint of dread settle in his stomach at the prospect of declaring his intention to enroll in Garden. He anticipated several reactions from his father, but would never know for certain how the man would take the news until he actually broke it.

Feeling that he had betrayed his father on some level, Lore's excitement drained away. "I'll see you at home then," he said in a subdued voice. The extended pause on the other end confirmed that Squall had perceived the change in his manner.

"Love you," Squall said in parting.

Warmth washed over Lore at those words, but it only increased his guilt. "I love you too," he responded. In his inward speculation over how his father would accept his decision, he missed the strange look Seifer gave him.

--

After calling his son, Squall let the phone slip from his ear. He flipped it shut and tossed it to the empty seat beside him. With a sigh, he pressed back into the cushions of the luxury car sent as his escort. Laguna enjoyed throwing expenses around whenever possible.

Irvine had wanted to ride with him into Esthar, but Squall had sent the gunman on his way. They had parted at the train station, Irvine headed for Trabia.

The drive through the desert gave Squall time to think about his current situation. He berated himself for not noticing the change in his body. It was still unclear whether his morning sickness had been the workings of the spell inside him or if it had simply been the heat. The coincidence was suspicious, but he had confidence in Dr. Odine's conclusion that he wasn't pregnant.

The nausea he felt at the moment had nothing to do with morning sickness. He was sick with worry. He faced a number of serious problems. Although he wasn't pregnant, the possibility of becoming pregnant was a rude reality. It had been seventeen years since he felt the cold clutch of dread twisting his stomach in sharp knots. He remembered the pervading suspicion that something had changed inside him after escaping D-District Prison. Despite his disbelief, he had known that something grew inside him. It was unnatural and impossible, but to his horror his stomach had started to swell.

A dull pain broke through Squall thoughts. His hands clutched the fabric of his pants, strangling the material until white knuckles throbbed for blood.

Guilt washed over him. He remembered the bundle of tiny limbs and bright pink skin, nestled in the crook of his arm. Squinted eyes, which had known nothing of sorceresses or death or violence, had stared at him. Lore had been a quiet baby for the first six months. When Lore had developed an understanding that crying made Squall jump to attention, the attention-hungry baby cried at the drop of a hat. But Squall had loved it. He had loved how Lore clung to him, preferring him to everyone else.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Squall closed his eyes and suppressed his memories. His concern needed to be focused on the present. Head cleared, he began to consider the problems he now faced.

The numbers of persons he would have to involve further complicated matters. Laguna was still under the impression that his visit to Dr. Odine had been a routine check up after his extended exposure to the elements. That night, or perhaps tomorrow, he would have to sit down and tell Laguna and Lore about what was happening.

A small part of him was tempted to keep it a secret. He even reasoned that it was selfish to unload such worry onto his son. He could live with a guilty conscience. It wouldn't be like telling a lie, just omitting a few facts about how his mission had gone and what he was up to when he left the city to see Dr. Odine.

Keeping the strange development inside his body a secret was appealing, but it wasn't practical or justified. Even if he anticipated panicked reactions, the situation was not a medical emergency.

Other than Laguna and Lore, he was obligated to speak with Seifer. Irvine already knew what was going on, which meant Selphie would soon know. Then there was Rinoa…

Eyes flickering to his cell phone, Squall hesitated. Dr. Odine had sounded gleeful at the idea of a second pregnancy, but that wasn't an option for Squall. He had left Odine with orders to find a way to break or reverse the spell.

A cold shiver ran the length of his spine when he considered that the spell might have been lingering inside his body all these years.

Though vast, Odine's knowledge was limited. Squall knew that the man couldn't promise solutions. There was one person who could offer help. Squall hesitated because he knew that asking for help would mean revealing some part of his relationship with Seifer.

Only a handful of people knew about him and Seifer. It never occurred to him that his relationship with his rival was a secret. He hadn't treated it that way. Discretion had been important, but there was no reason to hide.

Resenting his own insecurity, Squall grabbed the phone and searched through his contacts.

The call rang twice before a warm, cheery voice answered, "Hello?"

"Rinoa," Squall greeted, trusting she could recognize his voice. His personal cell phone was at home. ID on a military phone was blocked.

"Squall!?" Rinoa's shock was understandable. Squall spoke less over the phone than he did in person and he rarely initiated a call.

Squall forced himself to exchange pleasantries. It was the least he could do when he was calling to ask for her help. Thankfully, Rinoa knew him well enough to keep the small talk to a minimum.

"You've called for a reason," Rinoa surmised.

"Yes."

"I'm all ears."

Following a sigh was a long pause of silence. Rinoa knew better than to speak up. "Can you come to Esthar?"

Sensing that something was wrong, though Squall's passive tone gave nothing away, Rinoa quickly responded, "When do you need me?"

Wincing at the sound of panic in the sorceress' voice, Squall tried to choose his words diplomatically. He wasn't certain it was possible to reassure her that nothing was wrong and still impress urgency. "Tomorrow or the day after."

"Is everything okay?"

"Yes. There's a small issue of para-magic to resolve."

"Oh, Hyne!" Rinoa exclaimed. "Is it-" she choked for a moment. "Is it another sorceress?"

"No," Squall said. His jaw was stiff with reluctance as he explained, "It's in me."

The strange statement hung in the air.

"Squall, what are you… I don't understand…"

Squall felt the moment that understanding came to Rinoa.

"Oh, Hyne!" she repeated. "Squall, are you okay?"

Before Squall could attempt damage control, Rinoa was yelling in the background for Ellone. In the next moment, Ellone was on the line.

Squall muttered the same assurance, making it his mantra. "I'm fine," he said in response to every question they asked.

The conversation did not end well. Squall hung his head and pinched his nose while fending off a migraine. When Squall flipped his phone shut, he felt a false sense of calm fall over him. Staring out the window with a stony expression, he watched the neon city loom nearer.

His mind slipped into tactical planning. Wishing he could express his worry as openly as Rinoa and Ellone, he held his anxiety at bay and continued to stare out the window, looking like a man whose greatest dilemma was whether he needed to add coffee to his grocery list.

Inside, he felt something slip away. Eyes scanning the skyline of buildings, he wondered if he could spot Seifer's training center from his position. He was too far south.

How would Seifer react? Would he be able to force the words out of his mouth when he saw the ex-knight? Or would he be swept away by his desires? Would Seifer even give him a chance to speak before stripping his clothes off?

Squall imagined the whirlwind of desperately grappling bodies, but it seemed too ridiculous to be possible. Even though he knew how crippling the attraction he felt could be on his mind's ability to think clearly.

Condoms, Squall recalled, were a safeguard he and Seifer had stopped using. Their relationship was exclusive. What use were condoms except to make a messy act a little less messy? Men couldn't have children.

Feeling an old wound twinge, Squall felt familiar doubts stir in the back of his mind. How many times had he tortured himself in the past, questioning his manhood as his bulging belly declared to the world that he was pregnant? How hard had he pushed himself after Lore was born, swimming countless laps in the pool, jogging miles on end, and doing sit ups until he couldn't stand straight? He had been ashamed, both at his physical appearance and his apparent vanity.

Releasing a weighted sigh, Squall reminded himself that he wasn't pregnant. It was the potential for pregnancy that tormented him now. Close to two decades after the war and Ultimecia still had a hold on him.

As Squall scraped the distant recesses of his brain for ways to break the news to Seifer, he quickly realized how moot it all was. The issue was a deal breaker. It didn't matter how he spun the tale. Seifer would want nothing to do with him.

The man barely tolerated Lore for his sake. The questions the ex-knight had once raised about his pregnancy remained unpursued. Seifer would rather pretend that a stork had dropped Lore at his doorstep.

A contrary voice spoke and told Squall to have a little more faith in Seifer. The machismo-obsessed ex-knight had suspended strict heterosexual ideals for the sake of entering a relationship with him. However tentative their current relationship might be, it was clear Seifer was serious.

Fluctuating back and forth, Squall remembered the look of disgust on Seifer's face the night the blond had confronted him about Lore. He had seen a lot of the ex-knight's expressions up to that point. Their rivalry had ensured he saw everything from spiteful contempt to pure hatred, but never such disgust. He had fallen in Seifer's eyes, no longer a proud swordsman but a softhearted fool who answered to the whims of a five-year-old.

Seifer had left without a shred of doubt. The man had wanted nothing to do with Lore and even less to do with Squall. Seifer had stayed away for eleven years. Seifer hadn't come back into Squall's life because that disgust and disappointment had changed. Seifer had scarcely thought of him or Lore in those years spent at sea. It had been a twist of fate that brought them together again. Not a change of heart.

Squall had witnessed enough in the past few months to conclude that Seifer's opinion had changed. The man treated him as an equal, and his attitude towards Lore was occasionally civil and increasingly tolerant.

Squall couldn't tell if he was deluding himself one way or the other. So much had changed between them, but they were still the same people they had been six months ago. There had been a spark of attraction brought on by Seifer's bruised ego. Where that attraction led had surprised them both, but they weren't different people because of it.

There had been a few occasions when Seifer's eyes had strayed to the scar at his abdomen. Squall didn't know what those stray glances indicated.

--

Seifer didn't want to be accused of being a cheesy romantic. His mind volleyed back and forth. A candlelit dinner sat ready in kitchen. Five times already, he had blown out the candles and begun clearing the table.

Then, when he had felt foolish and angry at how wound up Leonhart had him, he had set everything back up again. A few minutes would pass, and he would grab the plates again and blow out the candles.

Finally, he snapped. Clattering dishes were stored away and already cooled chicken, green beans, and roasted potatoes were stored in plastic bags and set in the fridge. The candles were chucked into the garbage.

Seifer was not accustomed to having doubts. He hated indecisiveness in others and would not tolerate it in himself. So the dinner was scrapped. Once he saw Leonhart, dinner would have been the last thing on his mind anyway.

By seven o'clock, Seifer had run out of distractions. Work had been impossible after Lore left his office that morning. A drenching ten-mile run and exhaustive workout lifting weights had done little to distract him.

He paced his apartment, fighting the urge to drive across the city to Leonhart's apartment. He changed his bed sheets, which had been changed the day before already. It was seven-thirty when there was a knock at his door. About to see if he could find a distraction on TV, Seifer lowered the remote before he could turn on the mounted plasma screen. Rising from the couch, he forced calmness into his long strides.

If he hadn't been expecting Leonhart, he would have known it was the reticent brunet anyway. The knock had been distinctive. Sharp, but not demanding. Leonhart was a patient person. Most people would have knocked again by now, but not the reserved commander.

Hand raised to release the door's lock, Seifer hesitated. Setting his forehead against the door, he waited for Leonhart to knock again. How long would the composed swordsman wait? If their roles were reversed, he would have pounded on the door and kept pounding until the door opened.

Leonhart didn't knock again. Seifer cursed under his breath. Leonhart's ability to exact restraint dug at his ego.

Pressing the release, Seifer stepped back from the door as it opened. Eyes slipping over the dark and imposing form in his doorway, his heart began a hard, fast paced beat. His breath caught in his throat, stifling any smarmy remark that might come to mind.

Worn black leather conformed to long, lean legs. A black fitted t-shirt outlined slim hips and a firm flat chest. Two months of hoofing through the jungle had failed to impart more than a faint tan. He met effeminate and stern features of a delicately pointed chin, high cheekbones, sharp eyebrows, thick lashes and bright grey-blue eyes. Choppy bangs obscured one of the man's eyes, but left the pale pink scar visible.

Body reacting without direction, Seifer reached out and snagged the front of Leonhart's shirt. He hauled the man inside his apartment. Tripping steps caused Leonhart to collide against his chest, grabbing onto him for balance. An electric jolt heated the back of his neck. He delighted in the feel of Leonhart grabbing onto him. For a moment, he was completely lost in the desire to have the man clinging to him in desperation.

Squall tensed, his body resisting the ex-knight's touch. Two months of keeping constant guard wasn't easy to reset. As strong arms enveloped him and squeezed tight, he tried to push away. Seifer's hold only tightened. Though the ex-knight didn't speak, Squall could feel the man telling him to stop fighting. Reluctant to submit himself into someone else's grasp, he remained stiffly posed until warmth and comfort washed over him. His body lost its instinctive tension. Pressed against the broad welcoming chest, he relaxed.

Seifer held Leonhart with more force than necessary. It wasn't a desire to dominate, but rather to possess. There was nothing tender about the way he kept the fighter's arms pinned to a lithe torso.

Head falling against the soft nest of unkempt hair, Seifer's eyes closed as he inhaled the scent of the sun. It had been too long. He couldn't tell if time were flowing forwards or backwards, or if time had frozen altogether.

Minutes passed and the silence between them remained. Neither man spared words for a greeting. Words were utterly useless.

Seifer needed to feel Leonhart's body to confirm that it was real. Lips setting a trail, he sought Leonhart's mouth. The intuitive swordsman knew what he wanted. That pretty face lifted from the crook of his neck and gave him access to full lips.

Seifer kissed the corner of Leonhart's mouth. Wanting to move slow and fast all at once, he bared his teeth in an effort to keep control. Tracing his tongue along a pout lower lip, he tasted the warm flesh. Soft lips parted, inviting him inside. Nipping the bottom lip, Seifer teased it gently.

Gasping, Squall's breath caught tightly inside his chest. His mind sank into a heavy fog. Their faces were close enough to share a single breath. Seifer's teeth and tongue toyed with his lip. He hadn't kissed the arrogant bastard in two months. The titillating moment tested his patience.

Leonhart was patient enough to wait outside his door but not enough to delay the kiss. Seifer grunted as slim hips humped against his leg. The sweet friction had him sinking his teeth into the lip he teased. Accompanied by a quiet whimper was the of tasted blood. He had pierced delicate skin. Lapping at the tangy wound, he felt the body in his arms shiver.

Seifer slipped an arm higher and tangled his fingers into thick brown hair. Giving in to sweltering lust, his tongue plunged inside Leonhart's mouth. He met wet warmth with an aroused groan. A responsive tongue slipped against his own, twining and drawing him deeper.

When Seifer's hands began groping him, Squall slipped his arms free from the ex-knight's slackened hold. Reaching up, he slid his arms around the man's neck and raked his fingers through silky blond hair. The man groaned responsively into their kiss and a strong hand squeezed his buttocks in encouragement. Hips grinding forward, he rubbed against a muscular thigh and felt the bulging press of Seifer's manhood against his stomach.

Seifer grabbed slim hips and hitched Squall higher against his body. Their arousals pressed together through constrictive clothing. Every cell in his body vibrated with the need to thrust inside the creature in his arms. The sudden spike in desire caught him by surprise, triggered by his latent understanding that the man in front of him was actually real. It wasn't a dream. Dreams didn't smell this good or feel this warm.

Squall tensed as Seifer's fingers dug painfully into his hips. It hurt enough to let him know something had changed. Breaking away from eager lips, he found darkened green eyes. Silently, searching for understanding, he asked what the man wanted.

Seifer's pulse jumped frantically while his chest heaved. Eyes dropping, he stared pointedly at the swollen flesh of reddened lips. Falling into a daze, he took a deceivingly calm step back and kept his hands cupping the commander's hips.

Squall ran his hands over Seifer's chest, feeling solid muscle beneath the businessman's tie and dress shirt. The ex-knight's fingers tugged at his belt, causing him to sway forward. Sensing that Seifer intended to skip the foreplay, he slipped a hand into his back pocket and produced a condom.

Seifer grabbed the packet impatiently and nipped the corner to hold it in his teeth. Not needing to explain his intentions, he dropped his hands from Leonhart's belt and set about unbuckling his own.

With quick fingers, Squall unfastened his leather pants. He stared with a flushed shyness as Seifer's engorged organ sprung from the opening in unzipped pants. Undulating heat rolled around in the pit of his stomach, slithering lower into his loins.

Taking the condom in hand, Seifer directed, "Turn around."

Shivering, Squall ignored the instruction and leaned closer. Claiming Seifer's lips, he coaxed the man's tongue out and sucked on the appendage. Strong hands ran along his back and slipped lower. He hummed encouragement as a hand pushed the loose waist of his pants down. As daring fingers rubbed along his cleft and pressed against his entrance, he reached for Seifer's manhood.

Breaking away, Seifer took a sharp breath. "Fuck," he hissed, rocking into Leonhart's hand as it stroked him. Grabbing the teasing hand, he gripped a bony wrist tight until it released his straining cock. Taking the hand, he forced its palm against the entryway wall and directed Leonhart to turn around.

Squall's breath hitched when he felt Seifer's manhood against him. "The condom," he said, guileless in his reminder.

Seifer was too preoccupied to think twice. Sparing enough time to tear the packet open and slip the condom on, he hastily prepared to enter. There was no lubricant and he hadn't stretched the tiny opening. The condom's slippery surface would have to suffice.

Head dropping, Squall hissed at the sharp pain. He wanted it too much to care that it hurt. Inching his feet apart, he rocked his hips against the invading organ. Firm hands kneaded and spread his buttocks, opening him for deeper penetration. Slithering heat crawled up his spine.

"You okay?" Seifer murmured, inserting himself deeper.

Eyes closed as he took steady breaths, Squall made certain words came out instead of a whimper. "Just do it," he said. More than the pleasure of an orgasm, he longed for the comfort of drifting off to sleep in Seifer's arms.

Clamping resistance kept Seifer from burying himself completely. Drawing out, he squeezed Leonhart's hips in warning. A single hard plunge drove his cock deep inside his rival.

Squall cried out, unprepared for the pain and then the quick burst of pleasure that made him come. His manhood jerked, pearly fluid spurting as his muscles clamped around Seifer.

Not noticing that Leonhart had already climaxed, Seifer rolled his hips and strained to push deeper than was possible. Pulling out again, he began thrusting.

Starved of physical contact, Squall's body was quick to recover and his manhood stirred to life again. The sound of bare flesh slapping filled his ears.

As Seifer thrust harder, anger filled him. Leonhart had left him. Now that his partner had returned, he was marking what was his and making it a punishment.

Each spearing thrust drove Seifer's possessiveness deeper inside Squall's body. Split open, Squall accepted all of it. There was anger and desire. But mostly, there was a deep seeded desperation to possess. Pleasure turned into ecstasy when Seifer angled his thrusts differently and struck his prostate. Arching his back, he slipped lower against the wall and bucked his hips. He failed to stifle a keening groan.

As teeth sunk into the tender flesh at the back of his neck, Squall tried to pull away. A hand encircled his throat to keep him in place. Teeth found that same vulnerable spot again. Instinctively, he tried to shy away. Seifer wouldn't let him. A warm tongue licked him, soothing marks left by teeth.

Weak to the assault of pleasure, Squall rocked forward as another orgasm pulsed out of him. He didn't understand how something so violent felt so good.

A violent shudder ripped through Seifer's body. Tension centered at the base of his cock and then exploded through the tip. In pounding thrusts, he emptied himself inside his rival.

Before the wobbly brunet could collapse to the floor, Seifer held the man steady.

Squall straightened with a hissing jolt at the ache that flared. He pulled his pants up and steadied his footing.

Running his hands up Leonhart's arms, Seifer massaged tense shoulders. He had learned patience, to keep a leash on his desires until he had prepared Leonhart's body. He felt guilty when he handled the man roughly. The doughty swordsman could take a beating, but bruises were the last kind of mark he wanted to leave. Thumbs working out knotted muscles, Seifer used a gentle touch to assure that he was in control of himself now.

Squall set a hand over one of the hands that rubbed his shoulders. Though the massage felt good, he didn't like the apologetic tone. Turning around, he stepped back so that his back was against the wall. Expression neutral, he stared into green eyes. There was accusation and guilt in those eyes. In a slow movement, he stepped closer, holding the man's gaze. Raising his hand, his fingertips trembled as they brushed across a stern chin and proud jaw.

Seifer's heart was in his throat. He tried to read the sentiment in Leonhart's eyes, but cool irises were unreadable. Dark eyelashes fluttered lower, and he knew the man's attention had flickered to his mouth. It was a short lapse. Those eyes darted back up. Delicate fingers crept along his cheek.

In a slow and gentle motion, Squall stroked Seifer's cheek. It was unreasonable to think that he shouldn't have gone on the mission. As SeeD, his personal life could not take priority over an important mission. Despite knowing this, he still couldn't stop the torturous realization that it had been wrong. Leaving had been wrong.

Hobbling to the balls of his feet, Squall kissed Seifer. At first it was just the barest brushing of their lips, and then a bit firmer. The blond was right to be angry, although he wouldn't turn down future opportunities simply because it meant they would be separated for a few weeks.

Anger depleted, Seifer lifted Leonhart into his arms.

Squall felt as though he were back in Diablo's hold, cradled with care. His scowl masked his embarrassed blush.

In rushed strides, Seifer crossed the spacious living room. "Two months, you little prick," he grumbled as he punched the release on his bedroom door. His lips curled into a smile when Leonhart simply kissed him in response. The proud swordsman wouldn't apologize or make excuses. It had been business, which was something he understood. Still, he wasn't keen on repeating the experience of sleepless nights and days that dragged on forever.

Depositing his armload on the bed, Seifer toed out of his shoes and stripped his tie off.

After pulling his boots off and letting them thud to the floor, Squall lay back on the bed and wriggled out of his pants. Seifer was on him the second he stripped his shirt off.

The feel of bare skin heightened every sensation. In lazy, slow strokes, Seifer explored his rival's body. The mad grappling and rushed climax in the entryway of his apartment had been something necessary to get out of the way. There had been pent up frustrations and anger that needed a release.

Far from sated, Seifer could at least restrain himself. Now he could be gentle. He knew that light gentle touches drove Leonhart wild.

Squall caught Seifer's sly smirk and felt his heart race with an edge of fear. He was in bed with a seductive devil.

In waves, they touched and tasted each other. When they were both too aroused to hold back, tenderness turned to heated rutting. As damp skin cooled, their hands and tongues explored again. Hours passed in a few blinks as they became reacquainted.

--

Squall wasn't able to stay asleep very long. His mind and body were still acclimating. He drifted awake and felt the warmth of Seifer's body and comfort of a soft mattress. His mind told him that this was wrong. He should feel a hard damp ground and see the low ceiling of his tent.

"If you're not going to sleep, then I'm not holding back," Seifer said, still half-asleep himself. As he rolled their forms over, he stretched over the body beneath him and began nipping along Leonhart's neck.

For a moment, Squall thought he was dreaming. During the nights when his body hadn't been exhausted beyond the ability to function, he had dreamt of Seifer. His body remembered the ex-knight's touch and it became hauntingly real when his mind drifted between plains of consciousness. When a warm hand stroked his softened length to life, he knew he wasn't dreaming.

Grinning impishly, Seifer devoured his tempter all over again. Languid thrusts brought him to climax.

Seifer rested his body atop Leonhart's until it became necessary to shift to the side and let the man breath. He started to reposition himself, resting at the head of the bed and making room for the brunet to nestle against his side.

Squall hooked a hand behind the ex-knight's neck and pulled him closer. Reading confusion in green eyes, he snatched the man's pillow and set it on his side of the bed before settling down against it. Opening an arm, he waited patiently.

Drawing the sheet higher, Seifer shifted closer. Fingers slipped through his hair and cupped the back of his neck.

In silence, Squall directed Seifer's head to rest against his chest.

After tasting every inch of Leonhart's naked flesh, Seifer felt strangely reserved. It was several minutes before he allowed himself to relax, resting more of his weight against the smaller swordsman. Leonhart's chest was firm, not at all the comfortable perch that the man seemed to find his chest to be. Then he heard the heartbeat. Eyes widening, he shifted his head and listened. He couldn't so much hear the heart as feel its faint thumping. Delicate fingers began stroking his hair, brushing tangled strands and softly trailing across his temple.

Seifer let out a pleased hum, the deep and gravelly sound almost like a purr. Letting go, he forgot that his muscle-heavy frame could crush the lean form of his rival. He reveled in the feel of stroking fingers. When the fingers stopped, he grumbled a petulant complaint. Lifting his head, he discovered that Leonhart had fallen asleep.

--

They slept through dawn. Mid-morning brought warm sunlight streaming into the bedroom window. The light slanted across their entwined forms. Seifer's bleary eyes were the first to flutter open.

A curse at the open curtains was on Seifer's tongue, but then he caught the sight of Leonhart bathed in sunlight. Long and lean limbs were marked by pinkish bruises in the places he had lavished kisses. The navy blue bed sheet rode tantalizingly low on the slight flare of Leonhart's hip.

Seifer couldn't be certain if it were a play of light or if he were still asleep, but pale skin seemed to glow. For a moment, he didn't dare to move. The bridge between his fantasy and reality was too thin to tell the difference. There was an ephemeral quality to the sight, like it would disappear any second.

Leonhart sensed the light. Eyes scrunching, he tried to furrow against Seifer's chest, but found no cover.

Seifer realized that the warmth was real. The entrancing figure curled against him was not a figment of his imagination. Chuckling at his foolish sentimentality, he brushed aside Leonhart's bangs and set his lips against the diagonal scar between furrowing eyebrows. A quiet mumble hummed in Leonhart's throat, but the brunet said nothing discernable.

"Wake up," Seifer whispered. Long lashes fluttered in response. Nuzzling Leonhart's temple, he let his hands slide over the familiar contours of his bedmate's body.

The bedcovers rustled as Seifer slipped into place between Leonhart's legs. Out of sight, his hand slid up a smooth thigh and spread tender flesh. He nudged against the man's opening.

Arching pleasantly as an aroused heat spread through his lethargic body, Squall bent his knees and spread his legs. "Condom," he said, casting a squinted glance to the nightstand where Seifer kept them.

Seifer reached out and opened the top drawer. Pushing aside a bottle of lubricant, he snatched the box of condoms. The lightness of the box brought a sneer to his lips. There were no more condoms.

"We used the last of them last night," Seifer said. Before the mission, condoms had been an unnecessary courtesy. Leonhart had never expressed a preference one way or the other. Not using a condom gave him an excuse to join the man in the shower. There was a devious satisfaction in leaving his mark inside his rival's body. A potion could erase his hickeys, but not his seed.

Tossing the box over his shoulder, Seifer settled back between Leonhart's legs. Kissing plush lips, he said, "I'll just have to help you clean up in the shower."

"No," Squall said. His foggy mind woke quite suddenly. He hadn't meant to skirt the issue of the spell, but Seifer had a forceful presence that pushed all other thoughts from his head.

Seifer frowned. "It wouldn't be the first time I haven't used one," he said. A nagging suspicion surfaced from the back of his mind.

Squall shook his head. He shifted so that Seifer's prominent arousal didn't rub against him.

"Why do I get the feeling that there's something to this?"

Eyes turning to steel, Squall set his face into what he hoped was an unreadable mask. He shrugged dismissively.

"Leonhart," Seifer bit out, demanding an answer.

Cold dread clinched inside Squall's stomach. A frightened alarm told him make up an excuse. Fear seized him, telling him that Seifer would react to the truth with contempt and disgust. The thought of being cast out of the ex-knight's bed and apartment had his heart in a vice. Responding the only way he knew how when such panicked emotions raged inside him, Squall raised his guard and kept his expression carefully mannered. With a glare, he warned the ex-knight not to press the issue.

A sharp sliver of disappointment pierced Seifer's chest. Stripped bare in bed, he had set aside all pretense and expected Leonhart to do the same. Sex was meaningless if their defenses were raised. Leonhart had erected a wall to keep him out. His pride didn't allow him to show the extent of his disappointment and hurt.

Moments ago, desire had been evident in stormy-blue eyes. "You're not saying something," Seifer concluded. Leonhart had a habit of keeping thoughts locked inside that pretty head, but there was a difference between not speaking and not telling. "You're not _telling_ me something."

Shocked at how easily the ex-knight had read him, Squall's mask slipped. "No," he said, his denial lacking conviction.

Temper flaring, Seifer groused, "Then what?"

"I have my reasons," Squall admitted. Lying would do no good. He didn't have it in him to lie, and Seifer would have seen past it.

Jaw clenching, green eyes narrowed with menace. Grabbing Leonhart's hands, he pinned them to the bed and pressed his weight between parted legs.

"Seifer," Squall said in warning.

"Not good enough. What are your reasons?"

"…"

Seifer continued. He would never penetrate Leonhart without express consent. Working for that consent, he suckled a beating pulse. The stubborn fighter writhed, jerking against his restraint. Leonhart could have broken away with more force, but they weren't on the battlefield. It was difficult to muster a fighting spirit when the instinct to kill had no place in the bedroom.

Squall's struggle became halfhearted. The blond teased his pert nipples. He teetered on the edge, his body responding with enthusiasm. A fresh wave of dread reminded him that his refusal was important. He clung to his memories of shame and humiliation and the violation of someone else's spell lurking inside his body.

With a frustrated hiss of refusal, Squall wrenched his arms free. He pushed Seifer off and rolled away. Snatching the bed sheet, he wrapped it around himself and stood from the bed. He lurched to the side, his legs wobbling, but he caught his balance.

"Dammit, Leonhart!" Seifer shouted. "I won't stop anything until I know what's going on." Standing, his towering frame threatened force.

Retreating a step and hating himself for it, Squall glared at the ground. He sucked in a sharp breath. He almost blurted the words out, but forced himself to exact control. In a level tone, he said, "Dr. Odine found something. It's not safe without protection."

Anger turned to confusion as Seifer tried to pick apart Leonhart's words. Several moments passed. With dawning understanding, jade-green eyes widened to the size of saucers. "Are you knocked up?"

"No," Squall said.

Seifer had become visibly paler. "Are you saying you can get knocked up?" He had screwed Leonhart enough times to have a small army of children by now.

Arms sinching the wrapped sheet tighter around himself, Squall shivered when all the blood seemed to drain from his body. "I don't think so." He swallowed a heavy lump in his throat. He saw shock and panic in Seifer's eyes. Disgust was sure to follow. He waited, holding his breath like a man facing a firing squad.

"You don't think?" Seifer shot back with a sneer.

Anger entered green eyes, and Squall was thankful for it. He could deal with Seifer's anger. He hoped that the man raged and yelled, if only to keep the natural reaction of disgust at bay. His mouth had gone dry, making it difficult to speak. "There's a possibility. Odine needs to run more tests."

Running a hand over his jaw, Seifer tried to wrap his head around what Leonhart had just told him. Though he was shocked at the world shattering revelation, his stronger response was anger. He glared at the floor. He would have glared at Leonhart, but the man was too adorable standing there in a bed sheet. His anger would be disarmed if he looked at his rival. "When did he begin running tests?"

Quietly, in a manner that suggested he had become resigned, Squall murmured, "After the mission."

Turning his back, Seifer walked to the other side of the bed. Slipping into his boxers, he searched for his pants. "Get dressed. We need to talk."

--

Seifer needed to keep his hands busy. A "talk" with Leonhart meant a lot of unfilled silences that were poor a substitute for words. He needed full sentences to understand what was going on, and he didn't have the patience to pry answers from the mute commander. If his hands weren't holding onto something, he might just give in to the urge to strangle his rival.

Squall came into the kitchen. An instinctive voice repeated the same argument in his head. He had been a fool to become attached to Seifer. He had no business harboring expectations. Though he tried to assure himself that being turned away by the ex-knight was not the end of the world, his eyes began to sting.

Appalled with himself, Squall bit down on the inside of his cheek. Pain and the taste of copper flooded his mouth. The lump in his throat dissolved and his eyes dried. Once he was certain he had collected his emotions and beat them into submission, he cleared his throat to announce his presence.

Rearing around with a skillet in hand, Seifer pointed to the door. "Put a shirt on," he ordered. Somewhere between the bedroom and the kitchen, Leonhart had taken a potion. Porcelain white skin was unmarked and on display. He couldn't think clearly when Leonhart looked like that.

Pout lips formed a faint frown. "Couldn't find it," Squall said.

"Then one of mine," Seifer shot back. "Second drawer down in my dresser." After a moment's thought, he added, "Wear a sweatshirt too. Bottom drawer." He didn't need to see his over-sized t-shirt falling off a pale shoulder, eroticizing a sight that was already hot to begin with. He needed Leonhart buried beneath baggy folds and mounds of clothing. Then he could effectively keep his anger fueled.

Squall returned a couple minutes later. He scanned the kitchen while folding the cuffs of a light grey hoodie. The blood hadn't circulated back to his limbs. His fingers were stiff with cold. He was grateful to wear the hoodie.

"At what point did condoms become necessary?" Seifer asked, not bothering to turn around from the stove. If he had turned, he would found a very pale brunet who looked so fragile that a strong breeze might break him.

Crossing the kitchen, Squall approached the coffee maker. The cabinet above it had filters and a sealed bag of dark roasted beans. As he set about making coffee, he considered Seifer's question. Clinging to logic, he forced his mind to work with the same dispassionate rationality he used in the field. Presumably, condoms had been necessary all along. Dr. Odine had theories, not answers.

"I don't know," Squall replied after a full minute of silence. The way Seifer clattered the skillet to a different burner told him his answer was not received well. Filling a pitcher of water, he studied the stiff angle of the man's shoulders and back.

Bowing his head, Seifer declared, "You should have told me last night."

Squall gave a rigid shrug that turned into a shiver. Seifer didn't see his response. Pouring water into the coffee maker, he didn't voice his opinion on the matter.

"Say something," Seifer said.

"…" Squall dumped the left over water down the drain and left the pitcher to dry.

Temper lit, Seifer finally turned around. Stalking to the brunet, he grabbed hold of the hand that was about to set a filter inside the coffeemaker. "Stop," he hissed. "Say something."

Pulling his hand away, Squall eyed the ex-knight coolly. He studied the handsome blond's agitated expression. The filter had crumpled in his grasp. Before he could decide how to respond, Seifer acted first.

Dropping to his knees, Seifer reached out and grabbed the sagging folds of the borrowed hoodie. Lifting the sweatshirt, he exposed a pale midriff.

Startled, Squall staggered back until he met the edge of the counter. He felt warm fingers slip beneath the hem of his pants and pull the waist lower.

Green eyes stared at the horizontal scar along Leonhart's abdomen. He started to touch the pinkish line, but the swordsman knocked his hands away and tugged the sweatshirt back down.

Unwelcome memories came forward in Squall's mind. Hugging his stomach, he stepped away and moved to the table at the other end of the room.

Seifer sensed that he had done something wrong, but he was too preoccupied to care.

Squall circled around the table, needing to have the structure between him and Seifer. He took a seat and held a staying hand up when the ex-knight started to approach. A nauseous flipped in his stomach. He couldn't stand to have those green eyes look at him that way.

Worry tainted Seifer's anger. He stood in the middle of his kitchen, at a loss for what Leonhart was thinking or feeling. The sight of the doughty swordsman huddled behind the table unsettled him. Leonhart was wary of him, sending out signals that blared in the silence of the room, telling him to stay back. Images of grey-blue eyes wide with skittish fear flashed through his mind. He had hurt Leonhart before, when his impatience had led to violence.

Seifer scowled. Ten minutes ago, he had slept with the brunet in his arms, no guards between them. Now the man clutched a bent knee as though clothes and the distance was a type of defense.

A strong protective desire rose inside Seifer. He wanted to shake answers from Leonhart and express his anger. At the same time, he wanted to rush across the room and gather the man into his arms. He struggled to scrape together his patience, but he managed to control his conflicting urges. He held his hands up. "You're impossible," he said, backing away.

From his perch, Squall watched the ex-knight return to the stove and turn a burner on. Minutes passed in silence as the man moved around, from the refrigerator to the stove and back again. Seifer kept to the other side of the room, allowing him to think.

The knot in Squall's stomach loosened. Seifer's uncharacteristic display of patience eased some of his insecurities. If the ex-knight were going to point him to the door, the man would have done it by now. He had admitted enough of the situation to suggest that another pregnancy was possible. Seifer was most upset about not being told sooner.

Squall foolishly allowed himself to hope. When the blond cast a cursory glance his way and earned a burned finger for the moment of inattention, Squall cracked a faint smile at the amusing display. A mumbled curse fell short when Seifer caught his smile.

Leaning back against the counter, Seifer scratched the rough stubble on his chin. After a night like last night, he had come to believe that touching Leonhart was an unconditional right. He had been gravely mistaken. His possessive nature targeted his rival as something to be possessed, but the man wasn't an object. Leonhart had given him permission to touch and kiss every inch of that firm and supple body. He didn't have that permission anymore. He wanted that privilege back, but knew he would chase it away by demanding it.

"Come here," Seifer said, extending an arm and waving the brunet over. He had half a mind to storm over and grab Leonhart, but there was something fragile in the balance. A forceful hand would break it.

There was a lot that Seifer didn't know about Leonhart, especially the details of what had happened after the war. He recalled the stash of pictures he had once searched through at Leonhart's home. There had been something strange about them, something missing. He couldn't quite remember what it was.

Though he didn't move forward, Seifer let impatience color his tone. "Get your pansy ass over here." The icy glare that followed had a warming effect. There was a feistiness to it that was familiar.

The rational and analytical parts of Squall's mind shouted warnings, telling him he was a fool for hoping and trusting. He stood from the table and patted across the polished kitchen floor.

Seifer wouldn't be content to assume that the brunet had accepted him again until he had the man in his arms. Arm outstretched, he flicked his fingers. In a painstakingly slow movement, Leonhart slipped a smaller hand into his. Fingers curling around the hand, he gripped it tightly and drew Leonhart closer.

The argument in Squall's head suddenly cut off. The hard barrier of Seifer's chest and firm pressure of strong arms made his mind blissfully quiet. It wasn't enough to just be held though. Linking his arms around, he clutched the back of man's wrinkled t-shirt, bunching thin cotton in a white-knuckled grip. Against his cheek, he felt the rapid beating of the ex-knight's heart.

"You're impossible," Seifer repeated, almost breathless. He struggled to think straight, unable to focus when Leonhart clung to him. "Sometimes your antics are cute, but not that. Don't act like you don't want me to touch you."

Squall's hold tightened. "Then don't touch me like that," he said.

The pressure in Seifer's chest tightened. "Like what?" He had a vague idea of what had prompted Leonhart to suddenly shut him out, but he needed something more concrete. "Don't touch your scar?" he ventured.

Squall shook his head. He didn't elaborate. Unable to express his feelings properly, he could only convey that it was important not to repeat the mistake. Lore was the best thing in his life, but his life after the war had been troubled and dark.

With a sigh, Squall pressed closer, relishing the firm press of their bodies. It wasn't Seifer's fault. Visiting Dr. Odine yesterday had brought back bad memories. He hated feeling like some science project awaiting dissection. Feeling Odine's eyes and eager attention on his body had made him sensitive about his scar and the way others looked at him.

Seifer tightened his hold. "This doesn't change anything. I still need answers."

"So do I," Squall whispered. When Seifer started to pull back, he kept his hold on the wrinkled shirt and nudged his head beneath the crook of the man's jaw. It was easier to speak if green eyes couldn't see his face.

"Tell me," Seifer urged, determined but patient.

Breathing a musky scent that had traces of a spicy aftershave, Squall relaxed and loosened his tightlipped hold on words. "The spell is active again."

"The spell that made it possible for you to have a kid?" Seifer wanted complete clarity, even if it meant restating the obvious. He felt the brunet nod, an action that brushed soft hair against his neck and made him shiver.

Clearing his throat, Seifer kept his focus. "You said 'active again', which means it wasn't active before."

"Not since Lore was born," Squall said.

"Is it because of me?"

Squall was surprised at how quickly Seifer came to that conclusion. The ex-knight was uncommonly smart, something the man didn't let others forget. "I don't know."

"So what do we do?"

Leaning back, Squall met green eyes cautiously. "_We?"_ he murmured. He didn't want to believe that a problem giving him so much grief could be resolved by Seifer's simplistic straightforwardness. He had anticipated outrage and disgust, not easy acceptance.

"You and me. What do we do?"

"…"

"What?" There was an edge of alarm in Seifer's voice. The way stormy blue eyes swirled with emotion was unsettling. "What did you have in mind?"

"I just…" Squall was at a loss.

"Just what?" Countless possibilities of what was about to come out of Leonhart's mouth ran through Seifer's mind. What if Leonhart wanted another kid? What if the spell's activation meant it was only a matter of time and that there was nothing anyone could do to stop Leonhart from getting knocked up? What if he couldn't have sex with Leonhart again? The last possibility drained the color from his face.

"I didn't think you'd want to stay," Squall admitted.

Mind continuing to reel for a moment, Seifer didn't absorb Leonhart's statement. When the meaning caught up with him, green eyes sharpened to pinpoints, narrowing with fiery accusation. Leonhart's lack of faith was like a betrayal. His anger found a new fuel. It was a miracle that he didn't step back and throw a punch, but the thought of striking that delicate face, which appeared innocently oblivious to where his anger came from, made him sick. Leonhart was too precious to hurt, even if he wanted to throttle the alluring creature until some common sense sank through that dense skull.

Scoffing, masking the extent of his anger, Seifer declared, "Am I the only person Hyne bestowed with both good looks and brains? You're a beauty Leonhart, but you're dumb as fuck if you thought I'd want out because things got a little weird."

Now Squall's mind argued that he was a fool for different reasons.

Seifer gave a firm squeeze. "Don't mistake the fact that I'm still holding you. I'm pissed. You don't know me better than to think I'd cut and run? Bastard might run in my blood, but I don't ditch a good lay that easily."

A disarming realization struck Seifer. Stormy blue eyes searched his face, watching for some indication that he felt the same as on the night he had confronted the commander about Lore being half his. Seifer would be the first to admit that he had a track record of acting like an asshole. He kissed Leonhart's forehead. "I'll start thinking of ways you can make this up to me."

Squall scowled. Seifer took his chin and pressed his thumb against his bottom lip.

"That cute pout of yours won't work. I've got kinky things in mind." A good portion of his anger melted away as he realized how advantageous the situation could be.

Squall pushed away. Before he could step back, Seifer took his upper arm. The man's joking expression had been replaced by a sober intensity.

"I'm hurt by it," Seifer stated.

Guilt was quick to fill the holes left by Squall's doubts and uncertainties.

Bristling indignantly, Seifer continued, "More like insulted. You know me better than that."

"Do I?" Squall countered. "I remember what you thought of me eleven years ago."

Shaking his head, Seifer clarified, "We've got some bad blood between us. I'm not saying I'm a saint. The last few months can't erase the past. But I can't get closer to you if you don't realize that my feelings have changed. You're not the same person to me that you were before. You mean more."

Squall felt too many emotions churn inside him all at once. He struggled to keep a stony expression, afraid of revealing that he felt giddy and lightheaded. His commonsense chided that he shouldn't read too deep into the ex-knight words. When Seifer said that he _meant_ more, it was just a euphemism for the fact that they were sleeping together.

"Or am I getting ahead of myself here?" Seifer muttered. Stormy blue eyes were still guarded. Far from expecting Leonhart to respond with a declaration of undying love, he still expected more of a reaction. He would have settled for a halfhearted nod.

"It's more than sex," Squall said, too lost in the hazy boundaries of what their relationship was to realize he had spoken aloud.

"Is that a question?" Seifer queried.

A troubled crease formed between Squall's brows. "I don't know," he responded in monotone. He didn't know anything. He stood there in Seifer's kitchen, huddled close to the man so that he could feel comfort and warmth. There was nothing particularly sexual about it. He enjoyed the feeling. He could lose himself in Seifer's arms and feel nothing but safe and secure. It had started as sex, but the insufferable ex-knight had come to mean far more to him than Squall was willing to realize. When had that happened, he wondered.

"Don't go where I can't follow," Seifer chastised. He tapped his fingers against Squall's temple for emphasis.

"You mean something," Squall blurted out. As a faint blush crept its way up to his cheeks, he broke away and moved to the counter. "I'll help," he said, changing the subject.

Seifer didn't move right away. He just stood there, his heart racing excitedly as he struggled to keep his feet grounded. Leonhart had just turned the tables on him. Grabbing the man's upper arm, he hauled the brunet around to face him. The straight-laced swordsman was in no mood to play. Those bright eyes pierced him with cold daggers, but he didn't back down. He moved forward, forcing Leonhart to walk back until meeting the counter. Towering over the smaller man, Seifer leered. His lewd grin danced with mischief.

"What do I mean to you?" Seifer demanded, hitching slim hips up and setting Leonhart onto the counter.

Squall shook his head, conveying that he had no idea what Seifer wanted from him.

"Show me," Seifer directed, his hand cupping a pale cheek.

There was a hesitant moment where grey-blue eyes didn't let their guard down. Then sharp features softened. Leaning closer, Squall set his lips against Seifer's. He kept the kiss short and moved his lips elsewhere. Full lips chastely pressed feather soft kisses along a chiseled jaw line, feeling prickly stubble that was barely visible from a distance. He felt strong hands tighten around his hips, encouraging him to continue.

Squall moved his lips lower, pausing at a beating pulse and a trembling Adam's apple. Then he moved higher, retracing his pattern until he brushed against the soft lobe of Seifer's ear. In a very unchaste manner, he flicked his tongue out and drew the earlobe into his mouth. He sucked gently and then nipped. Letting out a quiet sigh of warm breath, he worried the lobe like he would his bottom lip, teasing the pliant flesh.

Seifer gave a low groan. "Shower now. Breakfast can wait," he declared in a husky voice. His interrogation could also wait. Leonhart was an enigma of contradictions. Behind an icy and guarded exterior was a depth of passion that only he knew about. Ego swelling, Seifer gripped dark hair possessively. Leonhart was his, to touch, to taste, to mark, to consume. "Mine," he said, his baritone dropping to a silkier note that was deeper than sin.

Squall shuddered in response. Releasing Seifer's ear, he met eager lips.

Seifer almost broke the stove dials when he turned the burners off. Scooping Leonhart into his arms, he ignored the man's tense resistance and crushed enticing lips against his own.

What few furnishings Seifer had in his apartment he managed to run into, cursing sharply even as Leonhart sucked on his tongue. The swordsman was too skilled with that devilish mouth. It made him jealous, causing him to stab his tongue deeper and lose sight of where he was going. After knocking his elbow hard against the doorframe, he cursed but became lost in the kiss again.

Reaching the shower without any serious injury was a surprise to them both.

For the first time since the training center's grand opening, Seifer felt the lushness of wet heat around his cock. He made himself hoarse from groaning as Squall demonstrated that not having condoms didn't mean they couldn't touch each other.

--

Breakfast became brunch.

Instinctively aware of each other's presence, Seifer and Squall were efficient when they worked together in the kitchen. Most of the ingredients were already out on the counter.

As the skillet heated, Seifer dropped a dob of butter and let it melt. "How do you like your eggs?" he asked.

Opening the carton of eggs, Squall gave a shrug. "Whatever," he said. He preferred them fried, but would eat them anyway Seifer chose to make them.

Grumbling to himself, Seifer accepted the offered eggs from Squall's grasp. He counted five eggs. "How many are you having?"

"One," Squall said. He had grabbed five thinking that Seifer would eat about four, but he could just as easily grab more or put one away.

Seifer nodded. "Four for me is good." Leonhart took the skillet with the bacon off the burner and moved away to plate it. The eggs would only take a couple minutes. "Pour me some coffee, would you?" he called over his shoulder, cracking the first egg with one hand. Before he could tell the man how to fix his coffee, Leonhart set a steaming mug on the counter beside the stove, the creamy brown liquid loaded with half-and-half. "Thanks," he mumbled, watching the brunet move away again and begin rinsing the hot skillet under cool water. He took a sip and groaned a sincere note of appreciation. He hadn't known that his coffeemaker could make coffee so good.

At the table, Seifer hashed out a few more questions. Every so often, he ran his fingers through his hair, smoothing back damp strands. The feel of wet hair reminded him he had just taken a shower, which in turn reminded him of the way those plush lips had wrapped around his cock and sucked him dry. Seifer's eyes stared intently at Leonhart's lips. As the man ate, taking pekish bites, he felt his pants tighten.

Clearing his throat, Seifer forced his eyes away from Leonhart's mouth. "When do you see the doc again?"

"When Rinoa gets here."

Seifer almost choked on his bacon. Taking a swig of coffee, he grimaced as hot liquid scalded his throat. He coughed and took a deep breath to keep his eyes from watering. "What?" he croaked out.

Squall arched an eyebrow.

"You never mentioned that Rinoa was coming," Seifer said.

"She's a sorceress," Squall stated blandly.

"What can she do?"

Squall shrugged. "She helped before," he informed, eyes falling to the center of the table. Before Seifer could lead with another question, he grabbed his plate and stood.

Seifer turned in his chair, watching Leonhart's retreating back. "How did she help before?" Narrow shoulders stiffened. He wasn't going to receive an answer. Grunting a note of frustration, he asked a question that branched into a different subject. "Does she know about us?"

Squall set the plate down in the sink and turned to meet expectant green eyes. "No," he replied. He busied himself with washing his plate, but when he finished, Seifer was still waiting for him to elaborate.

"Don't exert yourself," Seifer quipped sarcastically.

"I'll try not to," Squall returned with a defiant glare. Speaking wasn't his strong suit. That wasn't news to anyone. If Seifer didn't want to experience the disappointment of not getting answers, then the man might stop asking so many questions.

Picking up his plate, Seifer joined Leonhart at the sink. "I guess she's in for a surprise then." Winding his arms around a slim waist, he pressed against Leonhart from behind. Setting his chin against damp tufts of brown hair, he smelled his shampoo.

Rinoa had accompanied Squall to Seifer's training center on the opening night. It had been natural for him and Seifer to attend separately, each with their own partner. To an extent, they had hidden their relationship from the world. Irvine knew about Seifer, which meant Selphie also knew. But not Rinoa, no matter what she might have suspected after his strange behavior the night of the party. He had taken off in an uncharacteristic show of jealousy. Seifer had chased after him. In their absence, he had no idea what Rinoa concluded.

Apprehensions formed as Squall realized that his relationship with Seifer was about to go public. Ellone was coming to Esthar with Rinoa. Once the two women found out, the rest of the world was sure to follow. The public eye hadn't been centered on him in years, but after a major mission there were press conferences and an increased amount of media attention.

"Don't even think about it," Seifer muttered against Leonhart's ear. The tenseness in lithe muscles told him exactly what was going on in Leonhart's head. Sometimes he knew what the man was thinking, and other times he was at a loss. "The last thing I want to do is take out an ad in the paper, but I'm going with you to see that quack doctor even if it means Princess Rinoa sees me pinching your ass."

Squall hung his head. He could tell by the ex-knight's amused tone that the man intended to put on a show. Seifer was enjoying all of this, or at least intended to enjoy it.

Grinning, Seifer wallowed in Leonhart's sudden trepidation. Taking advantage of an exposed nape, he nipped at the jutting bone. The velvet moan that erupted from Leonhart came as a surprise. Peering around, he saw that the ice prince was even more surprised by it. Stormy blue eyes were wide with shock and a pale hand clamped over the mouth that had permitted such a delicious noise to escape. Chuckling darkly, he repeated the action, this time sinking his teeth in more sharply. He stopped short of sucking when Leonhart collapsed in his hold, legs giving out.

Squall tried to shake Seifer's arms off. His whole body felt weak. He shivered uncontrollably. Though he wanted to cover the vulnerable spot on the back of his neck, he couldn't move.

Breathing in shallow gasps, Squall's eyes fluttered shut and his head lolled to the side. He clutched Seifer's bracing arm, trying in vain to stand on legs that felt like jelly. He hated that Seifer could do such things to him. Shivers continued to wrack his body. He arched away, but found no reprieve.

Seifer was merciless in using Leonhart's weakness. The power rush did as much for his ego as the soft moans did for the iron stiffness in his pants. Dominating a person wasn't worth much if that person weren't strong. Leonhart was as strong a fighter as there was in the world. Holding the swordsman's slack body, feeling each helpless tremor, he felt the trappings of power. It was intoxicating to the point where he couldn't stop. Ironically, Squall's reaction had its own power.

Seifer held Leonhart to his chest as he knelt on the cold black and white tiled floor. Cradling a slender neck, his rough palm grazing the sensitive nape, he ravished bowed lips until they were a swollen crimson.

Seifer was ready to strip Leonhart bare and take him on the kitchen floor. Reality thumped his head when he remembered he couldn't penetrate the man. For the first time since the war, he cursed Ultimecia for what she had done to his rival. He had never stopped cursing the sorceress for the way she had screwed with his own life, but he had not cursed her on Leonhart's behest. Now he was angry. Because of her, he couldn't devour the willing creature in front of him.

Salvaging what he could from the situation, Seifer filed away a few scenarios he would like to try involving the kitchen counter and the kitchen table. Leonhart still had a debt to pay off for doubting him.

Helping the brunet up from the ground, he smirked in response to the glare directed at him. "It'll only take fifteen minutes for me to run to the drug store for condoms."

Squall rolled his eyes. "I'm going home."

A familiar bitterness awakened in Seifer. Mornings always meant that Leonhart left. It was a routine he wasn't willing to accept.

"What time am I seeing you tonight?"

Squall shuffled his weight from one leg to the other. "My return dinner is tonight." Lore and Laguna were teaming up to make him dinner, which sometimes amounted to ordering in, but was always a pleasant affair. He wouldn't be surprised if Kiros and Ward showed up, or if Irvine dropped by.

"What time?" Seifer had a few projects to take care of at the training center, but nothing so dire that he wouldn't blow them off if it meant staying in bed all day with Leonhart.

"Six," Squall said.

Seifer snagged the front of Leonhart's sweatshirt, _his_ sweatshirt. Tugging the man close, he smirked at how high his rival's tolerance had become to his constant antics. The brunet had always had an impossibly long fuse to ignite, even when he knew which buttons to push.

"What are you doing today?" Seifer asked, unwilling to let go.

Tilting his head at the question, Squall shrugged. "Writing my report. Grocery shopping." There was a pause. He hesitated, not certain his intention to visit Cale's grave counted as part of his plans for the day or if it were worth mentioning. "I'm going to the cemetery at some point."

Green eyes widened in surprise and then narrowed. "You're still pining after that teacher?"

"Cale," Squall supplied the name just as he repeated Lore's name for the ex-knight.

Seifer couldn't compete with a dead guy, and he didn't intend to. Bluntly, he stated, "It pisses me off. Don't go to the cemetery."

The darker hues in Squall's irises seemed to lighten as his gaze became stern.

Seifer read Squall's 'I don't take orders' expression loud and clear. He didn't back down. "People go to gravesites once a year, if even that," he reasoned. Logic was on his side, and it certainly sounded like a better argument than flat out admitting that he was jealous of a dead man and wouldn't abide continued affection for a corpse.

A tension released in Squall's shoulders, making them sag a little. Crossing his arms, he glanced away and tried to gather words for a suitable response. Seifer wasn't the type of person who made exceptions, even for someone who was no longer alive.

Wanting to convey a certain sentiment, Squall met Seifer's eyes again. "He died for me," he said.

It felt like a punch to the gut. Seifer almost winced. He already shared Leonhart with Lore, and didn't want to give up another piece.

TBC…

Author's note: Wow, ridiculously long time to update. I'm sorry. My focus was admittedly elsewhere over the summer. I've got to start shilling out more original work and less fanfiction, since fanfiction doesn't pay and I'm graduating soon. 0_o

That said, I'm no less determined to finish Defining Love. This chapter is my longest to date. I probably should have made it two chapters, but oh well. There was an array of outstanding issues that I started to address, like the pregnancy and whether the romance is public or private. None of the issues were forgotten. I'm just too longwinded for anyone's good and it took me forever to get around to them.

Rinoa and Ellone promise to be a hoot in the next chapter. I've dabbled with the idea of bringing in Zell and Quistis, but only if the story goes there. I'd hate to force in outside characters just for a quick cameo. It is an isolated setting, where everyone is split up, so things can get a little contrived if underused canon characters pop in for a visit.

Thank you all for overwhelming support. I've gotten a couple more offers for a beta, but Takayu has already done the first half of the story. I'm in the process of reposting the edited chapters.

Sorry for any errors, grammatical or otherwise in this chapter. It's so long that I couldn't proof it in a single sitting without my eyes seeing stars.


	46. Chapter 46

A/N: I had to repost this chapter after someone pointed out there are no line breaks. For some reason, the line break things I put in to indicate scene changes have been removed. I'm positive they showed up before, so whatever changes this site made is screwing with my story. I'm sorry for anyone who has been beyond confused at sudden shifts in the story (I have no idea how long the breaks have been gone). Grr, nothing seems to be showing up. Sorry, but I'm resorting to inserting random letters that might be distracting as line breaks, but effect. I have to go through and re-post all the chapters now…

Defining Love

Chapter Forty-Six

With feelings of shame and injured pride, Squall dreaded the possibilities that lurked somewhere inside his body. The tainted sorceress' spell was like a parasite that had crawled in and hibernated for over a decade. His concern for himself did not match his worry for how the situation would affect those around him.

Years ago, he hadn't even been aware of what Ultimecia had done to him until after his escape from the desert prison. Looking back, he had probably felt less violated by the act than his friends had. So much of that time was a blur. He remembered feeling disbelief and anger, but he hadn't had the luxury of holding onto those emotions, not when his attentions had been needed elsewhere. There were only interspersed moments between his grinding efforts as Commander, when he had the time to worry what his life would come to if he had a child.

Rinoa and Ellone were arriving later that day. Despite his best efforts to gloss over details, his friends would always assume the worst possible scenario. For that matter, so would his son when he finally told the boy, which he had conveniently neglected to do yesterday. It wasn't an easy thing to explain. He didn't want to frame matters in the wrong words. The extra day of thinking still hadn't given him any ideas on how to tactfully approach the subject.

As he prepared to leave Seifer's apartment, Squall felt the heavy weight of his responsibility. He was responsible for Lore, but he was also responsible to Lore. He couldn't protect the boy from the truth, which meant he needed to break the news as gently as possible. He also had to do it as soon as possible, because he was going to see Dr. Odine tomorrow.

If there was a silver lining, then it was Seifer. Squall was relieved to have Seifer's support, more than relieved if he cared to analyze the extent of his feelings, but that didn't solve his problem.

In the middle of trying to leave, he sighed inwardly as strong hands gripped his waist. Seifer didn't want him to go, not yet. He felt it in the way those hands squeezed his hips.

Seifer wore an uncharacteristically somber expression, but his intent was clear as he drew Leonhart closer.

The kiss was slow and soft. Squall's thoughts scattered. His motivation for leaving fell to the wayside. Restraint buckling, he was moments away from arching into Seifer's firm body and deepening their kiss.

Seifer gently nipped Leonhart's soft lower lip. He coaxed rather than demanded. It was heaven when he slid his tongue inside, tasting wet warmth.

For a heady moment, they teetered on the edge. Caught in each other's arms, neither of them quite ready to break away. It had become their morning ritual. Seifer hated mornings, because no matter how long he managed to drag out their parting kiss, it always ended.

It was Seifer's competitive nature that broke through his daze. If only to prove that he had more control than his rival, he forced himself away. In a decisive move, he steered Leonhart to the door and gave the man's pert ass a sound slap. At the icy glare from stormy blue eyes, he grinned. "I love it when you give me those nasty looks."

Squall's scowl hardened. He ignored the flutter in his chest and the aching need to have Seifer's lips on him again.

Seifer debated for a moment. He had decided to say nothing unless Leonhart confronted him, but in light of what he had just learned about the spell, he felt compelled to lay all the cards on the table. "Did the kid talk to you yet?"

Squall inclined a single brow. "About?" He almost corrected Seifer for referring to Lore as "the kid", but there was a familiarity in the way he said it now. If Squall didn't know better, he would have thought Seifer said "the kid" with fondness.

"Training."

Squall shook his head. "Lore mentioned you ran the basics with him."

Running his fingers through sleek blond hair, Seifer said, "Well, he'll have something to say when you see him." Part of him wanted to break the news just to spite the kid for not broaching the subject already. When he imagined Leonhart's icy wrath, he decided he would rather let the kid be the first one on the receiving end of it. Unwilling to admit that Leonhart could be intimidating, he told himself he was simply trying to be civil and let the kid bide more time.

Suspicious, Squall studied Seifer. There was a lot Lore would have to say when he returned home. "I haven't told him about the spell." The words just came out, and with them Squall's most pressing concern. He was afraid of how Lore would react to the news of the para-magic.

"You told me first?" Seifer was able to suppress his disbelief, but not his enthusiasm. Reaching out, he grabbed the brunet and crushed him to his chest. "You had all day to tell the kid, but you told me first." In his smug euphoria, he managed to forget that Leonhart had never intended to tell him anything in the first place, and that the details had been hard won by patience and persistence.

"It's different with you," Squall mumbled. He could live without a lover. Sex wasn't essential, even when it was as passionate and satisfying as it was with Seifer. He would be fine without Seifer, at least he had thought so until that morning, until the cold dread of losing something vital told him not to screw things up. He had been afraid that the spell would turn Seifer away from him. His son was the one person he couldn't live without, whom he could not bear to hurt and disappoint. However, his fears earlier that morning told him that the ex-knight was more essential in his life than he cared to admit.

The desire for physical contact was something Squall considered a weakness. He found strength in isolating himself from others. Now, he sought Seifer's touch unconsciously. He wanted to burrow deeper into the man's arms, which was currently a physical impossibility since he was already pressed so close. He settled for burrowing his head against the crook of Seifer's neck.

As Squall inhaled the clean scent of spicy aftershave and something else that was altogether Seifer, he came to a startling realization. Seifer wasn't someone he could dismiss from his life. It hadn't been different telling Seifer about the spell than it would be when he told Lore. He had been so afraid of losing something that he didn't even fully understand.

"I like it when you're clingy," Seifer declared. Immediately, the hands that gripped the back of his shirt let go. Leonhart pushed against him and he loosened his hold. When stormy-blue eyes glared at the offense of being called clingy, he laughed. "Another nasty look. Scathing really." Reaching out, he nudged a delicate chin higher. Leaning in, he kissed pout lips that were set in a firm, disapproving line. "You're spoiling me," he said against unyielding lips.

Suppressing his mild agitation, Squall let Seifer seduce him into another kiss. A number of remarks came to mind, but he was too interested in the way Seifer's tongue explored his mouth to bother voicing them.

HIH

When Squall arrived home, he found Lore and Laguna on the living couch. The TV was on, playing a soccer game, but the volume was muted. They were both hunched forward on the edge of their cushions, poring over work spread out on the coffee table. Lore was studying for a final in math and the president was reviewing a speech he was scheduled to give the following morning.

Squall didn't greet the pair right away. The sound of the hydraulic door was audible, but had not broken their stiff concentration. Passing behind the couch, Squall gently ruffled his son's hair. Lore ducked his head in surprise and whipped around to beam his father an excited grin. "You're back," he said, jumping over the back of the couch.

Laguna turned to face Squall. "Good, a distraction."

Squall gave the president a stern scowl that told the man not to use him as an excuse to neglect work.

For a shifty eyed moment, Lore debated how to approach his father on the subject of his decision to become SeeD. He had brooded over the matter all morning. He didn't care that his father had just walked in the door. He couldn't spend another minute with his nerves knotted up so tightly.

"We need to talk," Squall said, surprising the other two.

Lore flinched. He had hoped Seifer wouldn't spill the beans. Apparently, he had credited the man with too much consideration.

"What's wrong?" Laguna said. Though Squall's tone was untelling, the man never needed to talk unless it was serious. Ignoring that Squall had only referred to Lore, he stood and inserted himself into the discussion.

"Did Seifer tell you?" Lore asked, hanging his head.

"Tell me what?" With some annoyance, Squall wished he had pressed Seifer more on the topic. He had been too preoccupied with his own news. It seemed they both had confessions to make.

Head snapping up, Lore exclaimed, "Shit, he didn't." At his father's expectant headshake, he said, "It doesn't matter. I'm saying it now anyway." Pausing to take a deep breath, he shared a quick glance with his grandfather. "I want to enlist."

The statement hung in the air, slowly seeping into Squall's brain. All thoughts of Ultimecia's spell vanished. Images of his son in uniform filled his head.

Lore saw his father's eyes dim. He hastened to amend his statement. "Not for a couple years. I'd wait until I graduated. I could train until then, so that I'm ready for it."

Squall was proud to be a fighter. He wasn't just a mercenary for hire. He protected people who couldn't protect themselves, even if they didn't have money. It was honorable. Lore wanted that honor, but the danger involved was simply unacceptable.

"No," Squall heard himself say. Detached from the moment, his mind was busy envisioning his baby boy in horrible situations. They were real situations, ones that he had personally faced. There were too many narrow scrapes to count. Strong fighters died just as easily as weak ones. It didn't matter if Lore had the potential to be a great swordsman. A single stroke of bad luck, like an unexpected encounter with a T-Rex, could end it all.

As his mind swam back to the present, Squall read the hurt and disappointment in Lore's eyes. What had happened to college and playing soccer? When had his son's dreams changed?

"You need time to think," Laguna said. Squall and Lore regarded the older man. He had spoken in his firm presidential voice, his words more of an order than a suggestion.

Latching on to Laguna's advice, Squall nodded. "Yes," he agreed. He knew he wasn't thinking straight. He needed time to process. With his pace and focus thrown, he clumsily broke his own bit of news. "I'm seeing Dr. Odine tomorrow."

"Again?" Laguna intoned with worry. "Is that routine?"

Grasping at words, Squall's focus diverged as he kept thinking of the dangers his son would face as a fighter. "He found para-magic."

"Where?" Laguna asked. He was confused as to how Dr. Odine finding para magic involved his son. Did the magic indicate the rise of another sorceress? He waited with bated breath, fearing the worst. Was there another sorceress? Would there be war? Would his duty bound son have to put his life on the line again?

Making an effort, Squall focused on the trouble at hand. Remembering that this was going to upset Lore, he regarded the boy steadily. "He found it in me."

Moments passed before Lore reacted. His blue-green eyes flickered over his father's face. He stared at the man's lips, as if trying to read what they were saying even though there was no sound to indicate his father was still speaking. "The spell?" he mumbled disjointedly.

Squall nodded while watching his son carefully.

Lore's eyes fell to his father's lips again and then back up to meet stormy blue eyes. He didn't know where to look for answers. "The same spell as mine? The one from before?"

"Yes."

Lore felt something break inside him. Faced with his worst nightmare, he felt the room tilt. He thought he might have fainted. When his sight cleared, he realized that he was still standing upright, though his legs felt brittle, like they might break if he tried to walk. His eyes dropped to his father's stomach. Acid rose to the back of his throat. It was either the hot lump that came with suppressed tears or it was bile. He suspected bile because he felt like he might vomit.

Unaware that he was sneering, Lore continued to stare at his father's midriff. His fingers curled with the urge to claw at the scar on his father's abdomen. That's where the spell was. He wanted to gouge pale flesh and tear the spell out. But it would be useless. Magic didn't work like that. He could rip and tear, but would never encounter the invisible force inside tender flesh.

An overwhelming sense of helplessness washed over Lore. Sixteen years ago, he had been powerless to stop the spell. As an infant there had been nothing he could have done, but he was older now. He should know what to do, but he didn't. He was sixteen and already bigger than his father, yet somehow just as helpless as a newborn. How could he still be utterly powerless to help? No matter how much he wanted that spell gone, he knew nothing of magic. Only a sorceress could control para-magic.

Lore didn't notice that his breathing came in short, panting gasps. He didn't feel the hot tears well in his eyes. All he felt were the arms suddenly around his shoulders and the gentle fingers brushing against the nape of his neck.

"I'm fine," Squall said. He was an idiot for being too blunt. "I'm sorry."

"Don't," Lore said. Burying his head against his father's shoulder, he choked back a sob. And he was like a baby again, helpless and crying in his father's arms. The spell was a death sentence.

"Don't," Lore repeated.

At first Squall didn't understand what Lore meant, but a horrifying instant later, he realized that Lore was begging him not to die. Ice filled his veins. All the warmth in his body drained away at the sound of his son's voice. It was a child's voice. "Don't go, Daddy," was what Lore used to say to him before he left on a mission. When Lore was older, the plead had become, "Don't get hurt."

Lore's hold nearly lifted Squall off the floor. "I'm not going anywhere," Squall said. He winced when Lore clutched him too tight. He rolled a shoulder to indicate the boy should ease up, but the gesture had the opposite effect. Bearing the discomfort, he tried to think of what to say to convince his son of the best possible outcome. He hadn't considered the possibility of Rinoa's failure. She had helped before. She had brought him back.

Sighing into his son's hair, Squall said, "I promise it'll be okay." Looking over to the couch, he found Laguna hunched over with his back turned. Graying raven hair cascaded forward to hide the man's face. He thought Laguna might be crying. "Dad," he called, the foreign word rolling off his tongue before he could think twice.

Slowly, Laguna raised his head. He thought his ears were playing tricks. It wasn't until he turned and met concerned grey-blue eyes that he realized he had heard correctly. His son had called him "Dad." His heart clinched tight. People became sentimental when they were dying. Laguna knew that Squall would never fall apart into sentimentality, but the moment was still tainted.

HIH

Rinoa, Ellone, and Squall sat around a small round table in the center of the sitting room. It was one of many guest quarters in the presidential palace. The room had a cream rug, warm accents of red and gold, long drapes on ceiling high windows, and plush armchairs near a fireplace on the other end of the room. Laguna had convinced Lore to leave Squall's side, but only as far as the adjoining room where the boy continued to study for his upcoming math final.

Lore had scoffed at the notion of finals. Now that the boy was clearly distracted from schoolwork, Squall questioned the wisdom of telling Lore about the spell.

Rinoa and Ellone were regaling Squall on the latest incident at Centra's orphanage. Squall was only half-listening, which was acceptable to the two women. As he shuffled through a stack of files next to his laptop, he gleaned enough from their story to know that one of the children had replaced another child's shampoo with watered down zombie powder.

A servant bustled into the opulent room, pushing a serving cart. Ellone stood and began to help, which only made the servant flustered.

Squall didn't bother looking up from his laptop. He had spent enough time in the presidential palace to understand that the servants didn't like to be acknowledged. Their job hinged on moving around silently and making themselves as invisible as possible. Thanking them for every little task meant that their presence had been a disturbance.

As Ellone set out the sugar and cream, she remained oblivious to how her actions confused the young servant woman.

"Ellone," Squall murmured, eyes still glued to the computer screen. "Let her do her job."

Taking offense, Ellone turned on Squall and put her hands to her hips. Wearing a satiny cream color blouse and a billowy yellow skirt, she squared her slender frame. Even if her youthful features were gentle, children were on their best behavior when her hands flew to her hips. "Since when have you been so accustomed to being waited on hand and foot? Don't tell me it's finally gone to your head."

Already lost in his work again, Squall didn't hear Ellone's comment. The success of his mission on the island meant that plans for the new garden were moving forward. The deadline for his report was had been pushed forward because of Cid's eagerness. At the moment, he wasn't certain how to explain what had happened with Diablos and the T-Rex. He had Dannis' statement that filled in the blanks for the time he had been unconscious, but he would need the young man's official report on the matter before he could finish his own.

"Are you listening?"

Blinking, Squall glanced up and found Ellone's scrutinizing face inches from his own.

Satisfied she had her brother's attention, Ellone sat down again. "Are you going to explain what's going on?"

"…"

Seated to Squall's right, Rinoa inhaled the steam from her cup of tea. "Chamomile," she said on a sigh. "Hyne, I need this."

Ellone nodded her sympathies to Rinoa before returning her focus to Squall. The time for small talk was over. "All you've told us is that the spell was back and you need Rinoa to get rid of it."

Though Squall had stopped typing in order to join the conversation, he wasn't going to restate the obvious.

"Tell us more," Rinoa encouraged. "I'm all nerves right now. What does Dr. Odine say?"

"And," Ellone began with a shared look of reluctance with Rinoa, "what happens if Rinoa can't undo the spell? Is your life in danger?"

"I don't know," Squall said. There were more unknown factors than known ones. He wasn't pregnant, not yet anyway.

"How did it happen?" Rinoa ventured.

A frown creased the scar between Squall's eyebrows. "I don't know." It wasn't exactly a lie. He didn't like to speculate, but speculations and half-cocked theories were all he had.

Ellone set her cup down with a clatter, exasperated by her brother's reticence. "When is Irvine getting here?"

Squall checked his watch. "Soon," he said. It was three o'clock and Irvine was due to arrive any minute.

"You seem okay," Ellone said, her light brown eyes scanning her brother's pale face.

"I am," Squall said.

"No, you're not," Rinoa refuted. "Not if that spell is still in you. The calmer you act about this, the more I think you're hiding how you really feel."

"I'm fine."

"Don't give me that," Rinoa snapped. Wringing her hands in her lap, her doe eyes glistened with tears. "I'm a nervous wreck. The least you can do is acknowledge how serious this is."

Squall's eyes became piercing. "Lore is worried enough," he said, his voice tight and controlled.

Rebuked, Rinoa bowed her head. "Sorry, I didn't think about that." She wanted to shake Squall and tell him to stop being such a self-sacrificing hero all the time. But he did it for their sake, and they loved him for it. In situations where everyone panicked, Squall calmly formulated a plan. He was the commander who never cracked under pressure.

"Has it always been there?" Ellone asked. "Did something change? Was there a reason you had Dr. Odine examine you?"

Squall knew he had to tell Ellone and Rinoa about Seifer. Even if the ex-knight weren't the reason for the spell's return, Seifer had every intention of accompanying him to see Odine tomorrow.

"Oh Hyne, what is it?" Hand to her chest, Rinoa was ready to fly into full panic mode. "You have that look. It's bad, isn't it? You didn't want to tell us over the phone."

"No," Squall asserted. Closing his laptop, he shifted in his seat to face Rinoa. Ellone leaned in closer from his other side. "There's something you should know," he began, watching as Rinoa absorbed each word, "so that you're not confused when he shows up."

"When who shows up?"

"Seifer."

Ellone voiced what Rinoa's expression seemed to ask. "Why would Seifer come here?"

Sensing that a pincer attack was eminent, Squall slid his chair back from the table and stood. "I'm seeing Seifer," he said, forcing himself to speak louder than a hushed whisper. His voice was steady and even, sounding almost bored. His passive expression masked the wild summersault his stomach made.

Doe eyes blinked and a faint crease formed between delicately sculpted eyebrows. Rinoa already knew this. Bitter rivals had come to civil terms, which was a testament to their maturity. Squall had even attended Seifer's high profile party a few months ago. The two were hardly bosom buddies, but they had clearly set ground rules to keep from killing each other.

Thinking along these lines, Rinoa said, "I imagine it would be hard not to. With him in the city, you probably run into each other all the time." It was an easy city to get lost in, and two people were likely never to meet twice. But two rivals whose lives revolved around gunblades were destined to meet on street corners and frequent the same weapons shops.

As the tension fled Squall's body and his shoulders sagged, he envied Seifer's ability to phrase things in a way that only needed stating once. The man didn't mince words, and he needed that right now.

Determined to convey his meaning and be done with it, Squall tried again. "We're involved," he said. One look at Rinoa's uncomprehending eyes, and he knew he needed to spell it out. "We're dating," he stated. Seifer would have chosen more colorful terminology.

At first, Rinoa thought that Squall was trying to tell her that her ex-boyfriends had moved on. They were dating other people. As if to spare her feelings at seeing Seifer with another woman, Squall now hinted that the ex-knight had no intention of ever dating her again. This was ridiculous. She had given no indication that she had feelings for Seifer. It had been nearly two decades since her summer fling with the handsome blond cadet.

Under Squall's insistent gaze, Rinoa looked to Ellone for understanding.

Nudging her saucer and cup forward to give her hands something to do, Ellone dissected every possible interpretation in her mind. "Are you… do you mean to say…" Her unpainted lips twitched into a nervous smile. Risking that she would sound like a fool, she asked, "Are you saying that you and _Seifer_ are dating?"

Arms crossed, Squall stood at attention. He nodded and waited for a reaction.

Rinoa understood the implication hanging in the air, but she was certain she had missed something. "You're dating each other?" Her voice caught in her throat, ending with a squeak.

With impeccable timing, Irvine strode into the room. "Three of my favorite beauties," he greeted. The remark earned an expected scowl from Squall, but neither Ellone nor Rinoa seemed have heard him.

Mechanically, Rinoa stood from her seat and walked over to Irvine. Hugging the gunman, she stepped back and asked, "Is Squall dating Seifer?"

Nudging his hat higher, Irvine glanced at Squall. "You told them already?"

"Only just," Ellone supplied. She continued to nudge her saucer in circles.

"I don't understand," Rinoa said, her eyes trained hopefully on Irvine.

Moving to stand behind Ellone, Irvine settled a hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. "I wasn't thrilled either," he assured.

Squall shifted his weight to one leg and watched his friends pretend like he wasn't in the room. He wouldn't have minded if their discussion weren't directly related to him. They looked as though someone had died.

"But you knew," Rinoa said to Irvine.

Irvine didn't know if the sorceress was asking a question or making an accusation. "I knew from the beginning," he admitted, fighting a smug smile. One of the benefits of being best friends with Squall was being the first to learn the sordid details of the man's personal life. Sadly, there hadn't been anything remotely sordid until Seifer had shown up.

Now Rinoa made an accusation out of a question. "How long ago was the beginning?" Not returning to her seat, she paced back and forth behind it, eyeing Irvine on the other side of the table. Her eyes traveled over to Squall. "How long?" she demanded.

Squall's knit brows relaxed and his focus became distant. Lost in reflection, he realized how much time had passed. He couldn't pinpoint the exact date that he and Seifer had started dating. There had been their first kiss, but he had been involved with Cale when it occurred. Then there was the first time they had had sex, which wasn't a pleasant memory to use as the starting point. Their second attempt at sex had been such a success that they had gone on to a third and forth. Their first official date had ended in disaster. The nearest Squall could mark the beginning of their relationship was Seifer's arrival in Esthar. It wasn't accurate, but he wasn't willing to explain everything that had happened.

"Since he moved here," Squall said, simplifying all the events that had led him into Seifer's arms. If nothing else, Seifer's move to Esthar had been the catalyst.

Rinoa's incredulous gaze swiveled back and forth between Squall and Irvine. "Six months!" She set her hand to her forehead. "Hyne, Squall! Six months and you never thought to tell me?"

Squall didn't bother pointing out that he had spent nearly three of those months on assignment. He chose to remain silent and let Rinoa's parade of emotions spill forth.

Ellone's expression darkened. Ruminating over the news for a moment, she regarded Squall with a sisterly frown of disapproval. "You know we don't like to pry, but if you've been seeing someone that long, you really should have told us." Only able to focus on one startling revelation at a time, she latched onto the fact that Squall had kept a six-month relationship secret, never mind that Seifer Almasy was involved.

"What are we to you?" Rinoa asked.

Ellone gave Rinoa the look of disapproval. "It's just his way," she reminded.

"Yeah, and I've been a good sport. But friends call each other, not just when they need help."

Squall felt a pang of guilt.

The full recourse seemed to hit Rinoa then. "Oh Hyne," she murmured as though stricken. She returned to her seat. "Seifer?"

Irvine jumped in, asking, "Would you ladies like something stronger than tea?"

"Yes," Rinoa said immediately. Sweeping unbound raven hair behind her shoulders, she sank back into the chair.

"Rinoa," Ellone hissed.

"What?" the sorceress said with challenge. "I'm entitled to a drink. This is the type of news that you're supposed to get drunk after hearing."

"Maybe, maybe not," Ellone reasoned. "It's shocking, more so than I probably even realize right now. But it's no more shocking than when Zell announced his engagement, or when Irvine and Selphie eloped."

For a moment, Rinoa was distracted by the memory of Selphie and Irvine's marriage. The engagement had lasted a week. She and Selphie had just begun planning a big wedding, but Selphie was too impulsive a woman.

Trying to comfort herself as much as Rinoa, Ellone said, "We didn't even know Zell had been dating anyone. There was still so much publicity after the war. He said he wanted to keep a low profile."

"Squall isn't engaged," Irvine said. The muscle in his jaw flexed. "They're just dating. It's casual. It could be over any day now."

Squall fought the urge to roll his eyes. Irvine's grudging acceptance of Seifer had reverted to disapproval. Because of the spell and the possibility that Seifer was the cause of it, the ex-knight had lost all standing with Irvine.

Rubbing her temple, Rinoa asked, "Am I allowed to ask questions, or is that right reserved for your real friends?"

Reading the hurt in Rinoa's eyes, Squall swallowed his guilt and gave her the allowance to at least ask questions. He brushed unruly bangs out of his eyes and nodded.

Rinoa didn't know where to begin. Her first thought on the matter wasn't a question at all. "I thought you hated each other."

"Things changed," Squall replied.

"I understand that circumstances can change and that people can change, but you two really hated each other," Rinoa said. "How does all that hate and anger you had all your life change into you dating him?"

Squall gave his honest answer. "I don't know."

"Can I tell them?" Irvine requested.

Giving Irvine the go ahead, Squall moved to the window and sat on the wide sill. Discretely, he turned his head so that his cheek rubbed against the bulky hood of his sweatshirt. He could smell Seifer. He didn't want to think about how he had fought the attraction, how he had rejected Seifer repeatedly. It made him ache to see Seifer. He tuned Irvine's words out. Instead, he reveled in the illusion that Seifer was close to him, the man's clean scent enveloping him.

A talented bard in his own right, Irvine spun a rather dramatic tale for Ellone and Rinoa. He knew which details to gloss over, like Squall's betrayal of Cale. He also knew how to make Seifer the bad guy, though Ellone and Rinoa's repeated eye rolls indicated that they didn't believe Seifer was half as liable as Irvine made him out to be.

Feeling bitter, Rinoa's spirits plummet. She had lived apart from Squall for many years, but the bond they had formed during the war was something she still treasured. Their friendship was supposed to transcend time and distance. She was dismayed to realize that she was a cursory part of Squall's life. For six months he had been with someone and this was the first she was hearing of it. Even worse than not being apprised was the knowledge that Squall wouldn't have told her if circumstances hadn't brought them together. The longer she listened to Irvine, the darker her mood became.

When Irvine had finished, Squall returned his attention to the group. In a gentle voice that held an unspoken apology, he said, "He'll be at the lab tomorrow, that's why I'm telling you now."

"It'll take more than a day for me to get used to the idea," Rinoa returned. "Don't think you're off the hook. You can say that your love life is none of my business, but…" As her sentence trailed off, her eyes widened. "No," she gasped. Turning to Ellone, she shook the woman's shoulder, appearing scandalized by a sudden realization. Regarding Squall again, she said, "That night at the party. You took off and Seifer went after you." She did a quick mental tally. "You were dating then. Afterwards, when I asked about it, you said it was a lover's quarrel."

Rinoa remembered how funny the comment had been. Squall had seemed strangely sober while saying it and the joke had seemed out of place, but the absurdity of lifelong rivals dating had set off a fit of giggles. "Did you want to tell me back then? Was it because I laughed that you didn't?"

When Squall's only response was an indifferent shrug, Rinoa realized that her dear friend hadn't mean to keep anything secret. She had laughed in his face. Had he been embarrassed or hurt by it? "I'm sorry, I didn't know. I thought you were joking."

Stormy blue eyes softened at the apology. "I didn't expect you to take me seriously." Rinoa's high and low emotions reminded him of the girl he had met at the SeeD ball years ago. When Rinoa was angry, everyone knew it, but she was never angry for very long. She was exuberant, excitable, and always dramatic.

Flashing Squall a wry smile, Rinoa tilted her head in mock thought. "I can't see it," she said, grabbing a small cookie from the tray in the center of the table.

"You don't want to," Irvine muttered.

Nibbling on the cookie, Rinoa tried to imagine her former flames together. "I'm not entirely convinced that Squall isn't playing a joke." Her tone was playful, letting everyone know that she was simply teasing Squall and trying to make amends. Though she honestly couldn't picture the two men doing anything but trying to kill each other.

Ellone rolled her eyes. "When has he ever joked?"

Rinoa's lips pursed. "I'd sooner expect him to become a stand up comedian than date Seifer Almasy. They hate each other." _Hated_ each other, she corrected herself.

Both women fell into silence. For a moment, they locked eyes. Ellone's gaze was the first to fall. A similar thought occurred to them, though neither would ever admit it aloud. Centra was a backwater continent with none of the drama and intrigue of bustling city life. Though neither woman wanted for suitors, they were both hopeless romantics at heart. Rinoa had a stash of romance novels that could fill a library, and Ellone had read every single one.

If there was one thing that romance novels had taught them, it was that opposites were very much attracted to each other. The self-righteous heroine always fell in love with the disreputable rogue, and the passion between the unlikely couple filled the pages with heat. Hatred between rivals on the battlefield translated into incredibly hot sex in the bedroom.

It would have to be rough and animalistic. Two strong fighters, both alpha males, clawing and tearing as they each tried to dominate. One finally submitting and the other loving him for it…

Ellone fidgeted, suddenly growing very uncomfortable with where her thoughts dared to wander. She wouldn't have been so interested if she hadn't thought of Squall as a highly self-controlled man content to live a celibate life. Clearing her throat, she set aside her gnawing curiosity. "Do you think you can work with para-magic?" she asked Rinoa, welcoming the sobering distraction.

Tucking a tendril of hair behind her ear self-consciously, Rinoa's racing daydreams were doused with cold water. "I don't know," she admitted. "I hope."

HIH

Squall walked into Seifer's office, stopping just beyond the doorway. The same blonde secretary who had previously caught Lore's eye was bent near Seifer's side. Leaning too close, in Squall's opinion. If it weren't for a single straining button on her blouse, her breasts would spring free. If Seifer were aware of the woman's ample display, he gave no indication.

"Reschedule everything," Seifer said. He gestured with a pen to a line in the document he held. "Clear the entire day."

"I've tried," the secretary countered.

Neither of them had taken notice of Squall yet.

"I can push everything back 'til noon, but the meeting with Mason Corps has been set for weeks now. They're very insistent on meeting with you."

Seifer set the document on the corner of the desk. "Then insist on rescheduling or they'll be meeting with an empty chair."

"If I could give them a reason, they'd understand," the busty blonde said.

"It's personal," Seifer said in a clip tone. "Get it done."

When the secretary snatched the document and straightened, she caught sight of Squall. "Sir, visitors must wait outside," she instructed. Her eyes studied the newcomer with interest. She recognized Squall, or thought she did. She didn't trust her eyes enough to believe that _Squall Leonhart_ was standing right in front of her.

Dressed in jeans and Seifer's oversized grey hoodie, Squall looked nothing like the briefcase toting businessmen that filed in and out of Seifer's office. On the flip side, buried in layers that hid his muscle lean form, he looked nothing like the sweat soaked fighters with bulging muscles that paraded around the lower floors of the training center.

"He doesn't need an appointment," Seifer groused. Patience depleted, he gestured for his secretary to leave. She hesitated a moment before walking out the door. Her rushed steps didn't interrupt the jaunty sway of her hips.

With a beckoning wave of his fingers, Seifer called Squall closer. The brunet didn't heed him, which was to be expected. Instead, the man crossed his arms and shifted his weight in an adorably defiant manner.

Squall knew better than to say anything. The words left his mouth before he could stop himself. "New secretary?" Hearing his own jealousy, he wanted to bury his face in his hands.

Squall's embarrassment wasn't complete until Seifer's grin stretched from ear to ear. The ex-knight knew exactly what Leonhart was asking, and he intended to enjoy the hell out of it.

Grin turning lecherous, Seifer said, "As a matter of fact, I hand picked her. Dozens of women tried out, but none of them measured up to my standards."

Deciding it would be best to change the subject, and quick, Squall said, "Rinoa and Ellone came in today."

Like a starved dog with a meaty bone, Seifer refused to let the matter go. "She's a little dim, but I require my secretaries to have more than clerical assets. She has other endowments that compensate."

A voice in the back of Squall's head warned him not to play this game with Seifer. The man enjoyed getting a rise out of people. Against his better judgment, he said, "I noticed."

Green eyes flashed dangerously, all humor vanishing. "Did you?" Seifer hissed.

Uncrossing his arms, Squall moved forward until he drew even with the side of Seifer's desk. Sharp, predatory eyes followed his progress.

Standing, Seifer's long limbs unfolded until he towered above the brunet. "What did you notice?"

Calmly, Squall stepped closer. There were less than a couple feet between them. Meeting narrowed green eyes with a guarded stare, he said, "I noticed she was standing too close to you." Suddenly, it wasn't something to be embarrassed about.

Seifer curled his hands into fists, knowing that if he touched Leonhart within the next ten seconds, it would be to tear the man's clothes off. "Meredith will be back next week," he said.

The room felt warmer. Squall cast a quick glance to the door, confirming that it was closed.

Seifer observed Leonhart's glance and knew exactly what the man was thinking. Throwing caution to the wind, he swept down on his rival. Arms snaking around the man's waist, he claimed pout lips.

In a flurry, Seifer kicked his chair out of the way and pushed his laptop to the edge of the desk. He tugged at Leonhart's sweatshirt. "Take this off," he said. "I can't feel you."

Squall would have balked at the order and defiantly pointed out that just that morning Seifer had ordered him into the garment. However, he happened to be in complete agreement about not being able to feel enough through the heavy material.

With a few jerking movements, Squall cast the hoodie aside. The t-shirt he wore beneath rode up. Seifer's hands pushed the shirt higher until calloused thumbs rubbed over hardened nipples. He gasped against Seifer's mouth. An eager tongue silenced further vocal appreciation.

"You're so fucking hot," Seifer muttered, more to himself than the responsive man in his arms.

The edge of the desk became painful as it pressed hard against the small of Squall's back. Hitching higher, using his hold on Seifer's shoulders to brace the move, he levered onto the edge and spread his legs to accommodate Seifer's body.

Seifer's hands groped every inch of warm flesh he could find. Up and down the muscular curves of Leonhart's chest and back. He tasted each delicious sound Leonhart made. He lapped deeper into the man's mouth until Leonhart arched with the need for air. Still, he pressed for more.

Cradling Leonhart's neck, he lowered the man back against the top of his desk. Finally breaking away, Leonhart panted and gazed up at him through heavy lids and glazed eyes.

Chest heaving, Squall licked slick lips and reached out for Seifer. The ex-knight's hand clasped with his, but Seifer didn't move closer. He gave the hand a squeeze and small tug.

"Let me look at you," Seifer said, his voice hoarse. He wanted to sear this image of Leonhart into his mind. The man was sprawled wanton across his desk. Legs dangling over the edge, spread wide and inviting. Torso bared, hair rumpled, lips swollen red.

Squall could feel the heat of a blush creeping to his face. He didn't like being the center of such rapt attention. He hooked a leg around Seifer's waist and pulled the ex-knight in closer. Seifer jerked forward, thrown off balance so that he had to brace his hands on either side of Squall to steady himself.

Squall quirked a daring eyebrow, silently asking if Seifer needed to look some more or if the man was ready to move on to a more tactile activity.

While Seifer's eyes sparkled with amusement, he held back his laugh. At the feel of Leonhart's other leg wrapping around his waist, effectively binding him in place, he reached a hand out and brushed unruly bangs away from a pale forehead. His fingers trailed along the pink scar and over Leonhart's temple.

"You're gorgeous," Seifer said. His thumb swiped over Leonhart's bottom lip. "Beautiful."

Squall's blush was immediate this time. For a suspended moment, he forgot about the pressing need of his arousal. With a flutter in his chest, he recognized the adoring devotion in Seifer's eyes. He wanted to answer in kind, but didn't know where to begin.

Head tilting against the press of Seifer's hand, Squall reached his own hand to Seifer's face. He copied the man's gentle caress, moving from scar to temple to cheek and ghosting over handsome lips. He didn't understand the odd flutter inside of him, but he understood that he wanted Seifer. An unbidden smile graced his lips. He wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the tenderness between them. Instead, he smiled. He smiled with guilt that he couldn't properly return the increasingly frequent gestures of tenderness Seifer showed him. He smiled with a longing to spend his every waking moment with this man. He smiled with sadness because his own failings kept him from relating to people and better understanding this strange relationship.

"Sweet Hyne," Seifer said, sounding breathless. His heart ached at the sight of Leonhart's fragile smile. What had he done to warrant such a look? His hand trembled as he traced the smile. It disappeared beneath his touch. He wanted to shake Leonhart and demand its return.

Squall let his hand fall from Seifer's face. His fingers whispered over the starched fabric of a white dress shirt until he found the man's heart. He paused, feeling the rapid beat. He eyed Seifer's chest curiously. Why was it beating so fast?

With a lopsided smirk, Seifer set his hand atop Leonhart's, holding it in place. "I don't know why," he said in answer to the brunet's unasked question. "It just started all of a sudden."

When Seifer's hand pressed against his own chest, Squall was surprised to realize his heart was beating furiously inside. He wasn't short of breath. He felt perfectly calm, serene almost. Yet his heart ran a mile a minute.

The two rivals felt each other's hearts, neither quite understanding the strange rhythmic race.

And like a dream shattered too soon by an alarm clock, Seifer jerked back. A disquieting thought bled to the forefront of his mind. _This could be love_. And he wanted none of it. Love wasn't something he believed in, not any more. Ultimecia had shown him the destructive force of his naïve romantic dreams.

Stung by the rejection in Seifer's suddenly cold regard, Squall unwrapped his legs and sat upright. "Seifer?" he questioned. He tugged his shirt back down as Seifer paced away and refused to meet his eyes.

"It's nothing," Seifer said. "I just have a lot of shit to get done today. I'm trying to clear my schedule for tomorrow."

Squall fought against his growing unease. Glancing between his discarded hoodie and the ex-knight, he was torn. He wanted to press against Seifer and feel assured by strong arms. But at the moment, he doubted whether Seifer would hold him close. He had the unnerving suspicion that Seifer would push him away.

Squall's heart continued to beat fast, but now it hurt. The organ beat against a crushing weight in his chest. Would Seifer push him away if he asked to be held? Like a coward, Squall dropped off the desk and grabbed the sweatshirt. He wasn't going to wait around and find out what Seifer would do.

"I should go," Squall said as he ducked into the garment.

Seifer gave a hasty reply. "Yeah, that's best."

Squall hid his contrite expression. Seifer's quick response sounded desperate for him to leave, to get out of the man's sight. Not knowing what he'd done wrong, Squall retreated to the office door. He reached for the handle, but paused. Speaking towards the inanimate black glass of the door, he said, "Rinoa and Ellone want you to come to dinner tonight. Can you make it?"

"I don't know."

Squall bowed his head, his mind reeling. He replayed the moments before Seifer had pulled away. What had he done wrong? Was this the inevitable end he had anticipated from the beginning? How had he lost sight of the fact that Seifer was inevitably going to lose interest in him? Had the man finally realized he was more trouble than he was worth, especially now that they couldn't have sex?

Gathering the unraveled threads of composure, Squall mustered a relatively calm voice, though it sounded thick and subdued. "Call me either way?" He couldn't face Seifer. The shock of green eyes turning cold and freezing him out was enough to send him running. It had been easier to face Diablos than it was to risk asking Seifer what was wrong.

Seifer made a noncommittal sound. He needed to be alone. He couldn't think straight. The sight of Leonhart's narrow shoulders sagging nearly undid him. Before he could call Leonhart back and try to explain, the man slipped out the door.

TBC…

**Author's note**: Sorry for errors and typos. A lot of ups and downs in the chapter, maybe too many to follow. Towards the end, I felt like the sudden turn for the worse was a bit too much, but I figure the revelation of love is enough to give both of them pause.

This chapter had a lot more to it, but since I haven't updated in like a year, it seemed high time to post what I could. I'm sorry for the long wait. Between back-to-back semesters where I overloaded on classes and applying to graduate school, I've been too busy to do anything that required thinking.

I've already got a lot written for the next chapter. While job hunting may take up a lot of my time, I'm hoping to post again soon. Sadly, there are only a few chapters left. I'm not sure how I want to end the story yet, but it's definitely coming to a close. I think maybe two more chapters. I have a habit of leaving things open ended, but I'll try to give this piece as much closure as possible.

There are a number of outstanding issues that I will address, rest assured. The missing pictures, the reason another pregnancy is out of the question, and Cale will all be dealt with.

As always, all the reviews have been amazing. Thank you so much for all the support.


	47. Chapter 47

Defining Love

Chapter Forty-Seven

Like any group of friends that didn't get around to seeing each other as often as they would like or as often as they always promised they would, there were multiple stories being shared at the same time.

Selphie arrived minutes before Squall was called into conference with Cid. Her interrogation had to wait. She would have flown in hours ago, but Squall insisted on discretion. A giant red spaceship sporting grappling arms would have made headlines no matter where she landed the thing. Boats were primitive transport in her estimation, but Squall's appointment with Odine wasn't until the following day.

Now, Selphie demanded that Rinoa fill her in on every detail, both the necessary ("Have you seen them kiss?") and the tangential ("What kind of dress did you wear to Seifer's shindig?"). Rinoa and Selphie sat at the table with Lore while the boy absently worked on his homework. Ellone sat next to Irvine on the couch and listened as he explained the particulars of her little brother's recent romance. Unlike the others, Ellen hadn't known Seifer prior to the war. The shock of Squall's interest in the former knight didn't resonate as deeply in her.

A chorus of shouts sounded outside the sitting room. Irvine shot to his feet, hand hovering at his hip for a gun that wasn't there. Rinoa glanced at the wide doorway, then across the room to the office door, behind which Squall had taken an emergency call from Headmaster Cid.

"I don't need a damn escort!" a shout came.

Hunched over his chemistry notes, Lore snorted with laughter. He recognized Seifer's voice.

The door slid open. Irvine cursed the palace guards for always confiscating his weapons. Nothing would have given him more satisfaction than to neuter Seifer. If it turned out that Squall was pregnant again, he'd do just that.

Seifer took in the room full of familiar faces. Gaze settling on Lore, he asked, "Where's your dad?"

Lore pointed the eraser-tip of his pencil across the room. "He's in there, but he's busy."

"Good for him," Seifer said sarcastically, already stalking across the room. He ignored the gaping stares that followed him.

Irvine threw Lore a betrayed look, which the boy answered with a shrug. Since when had Lore's campaign against Seifer ended?

"Seifer," Rinoa said, stepping forward in the hopes of playing mediator.

Seifer waved her off. "Not now." He stalked to the closed door and pressed its release. It was unlocked despite whatever business Leonhart was up to.

Phone cradled between neck and shoulder, Squall didn't even look up at Seifer's entrance.

Seifer stood nearby, radiating impatience. When Leonhart threw a glare his way, he made a motion with his hand for the man to wrap things up on the phone. Blue eyes iced over and he could imagine the slew of nasty words Leonhart was saying in his head.

Like everything else in the palace, the office was an oversized multi-colored spectacle of technology. Too much space, Seifer decided. And not enough light, though he figured Leonhart simply hadn't turned the lights on. At the opposite end of the room were a broad window and long couch. The president clearly enjoyed sitting, because there were couches and chairs around every corner. There were also countless doors. He understood why Leonhart had opted out of living here. It was a soldier's nightmare, no direct exits and nameless servants hovering in the shadows.

"Any casualties?" Squall asked into the phone. He typed on the desk's glossy surface. A map of Galbadia came to life as a holographic projection. He zeroed in on the area of interest. "What are his most recent coordinates?"

Seifer leaned against the desk and studied the map for a moment. He liked the touch screen. It would mean he could stop toting his laptop around and still save desk space. He considered getting one for his office.

Squall spared the ex-knight a quick glance. "I doubt he's after the city. His likelier target is the labyrinth." He highlighted the Tomb of the Unknown King on the map and plotted the distance from Diablos current position. He gave the image a considering look before he said to Cid, "I'd advise against taking action. Diablos wants freedom, not trouble."

There was a long pause over the line before Cid agreed. Squall bid the man goodbye and turned the projection off. For a moment, he simply stared at the desktop before he cast Seifer an expectant look.

Seifer understood the unvoiced question. Leonhart wanted to know what had happened back at his office and why he'd shown up at the palace. Pushing Leonhart away had been a mistake, but he couldn't explain why he'd done it. "It was a mistake," he said. Of that much he was certain.

Squall stood and crowded into Seifer's space. He grabbed the man's tie and yanked him down. The impact of their mouths was painful. He demanded a response.

Catching the back of Leonhart's neck, Seifer pulled him closer. He answered the demand with his lips and tongue. When he moved to deepen the kiss, Leonhart pushed him back.

"Where do we stand?" Squall said. He held onto Seifer's tie, a tether that ensured the man wouldn't leave. He could forgive Seifer's cold-shouldered brush off at the training center, but his capacity to forgive was limited. He refused to be placed in that position again. It had shaken him awake to the reality that he'd put himself on the line and left himself open to rejection. He needed to feel safe with Seifer. At the moment, he didn't. He shouldn't need to grip the man's tie like a lifeline.

"I'm standing right in front of you." The edge of uncertainty and vulnerability in Leonhart's eyes was like a sucker punch.

"And tomorrow?" There was a note of challenge in Squall's voice. He'd rather have Seifer end their relationship now, before he invested anymore of himself.

"Tomorrow I'll be standing between you and that mad scientist, making sure he doesn't do anything to you."

Squall followed Seifer's deflection for the moment, but he wouldn't let the subject go entirely. "He has to examine me."

"I know his reputation. Kadowaki's the only doc I trust."

"She's not a para-magic expert."

"Doesn't mean she can't oversee Odine."

Squall nodded his agreement.

Seifer grinned. "I already called her. She's flying out tonight."

Not the least bit surprised, Squall just leaned in and kissed Seifer again. The man was incorrigible. He laid his head against Seifer's chest and wrapped his arms around his trim waist. He didn't want to let go.

"It was a mistake," Seifer said again.

Squall nodded again, though with his head against a firm pectoral it was more like nuzzling.

Rubbing the back of Leonhart's neck, Seifer planted a kiss to the crown of soft brown hair. He breathed in the scent of the man, always like sun on cotton. At the feel of Leonhart's hands clutching the back of his previously wrinkle free shirt, he smiled. Leonhart usually took impassivity to new heights. On the rare occasion that the man clung to him, he felt like the most powerful man in the world. His arms formed a protective embrace as he silently promised never to take his own confusion and relationship paranoia out on Leonhart again.

"What's our worst case scenario?" When Leonhart responded with a kind of confused silence, he elaborated. "If Heartily can't break the spell, are we looking at messy diapers or just having to buy condoms in bulk?"

Squall was momentarily stunned by Seifer's use of "we." Then he caught the fatal error in Seifer's line of thought. He should have realized sooner that Seifer didn't know the full circumstances of his last pregnancy. He'd been too wrapped up in the novelty of his relationship and countless other distractions like Lore's decision to enlist.

"Another brat can't be so bad considering you're over the moon for the one you already have." When Leonhart went from pliant to rigid in his hold, Seifer winced at how his words could be interpreted. "I'm not saying I want a kid. I'm just saying that if that's the worst case scenario, then I can deal with it." It would have been more accurate to say he'd tolerate a kid if it meant keeping Leonhart.

Feeling warm and cold at the same time, Squall's stomach sank. "That's not the worst case," he whispered.

The hairs on Seifer's arms stood up. "Then what is?"

"…"

Seifer's gripped sharp shoulders and pushed Leonhart away so he could look the man in the eye. "What don't I know?" he demanded.

Squall searched for some flicker of understanding in Seifer's expression. Apparently, it was too much to hope that Seifer had already spoken to Lore like he'd told him to. He'd been cryptic about it when Seifer had first asked. Given Lore's sensitivity to the issue, it was taboo to mention anything in their household.

"I died," Squall said.

"What?"

"…"

"Leonhart!" Seifer snapped. "What do you mean?"

Squall tried to shrug dismissively, but Seifer's hold was too tight.

"You died, as in what?"

"As in, I died." Squall didn't know how else to say it.

"I need more than that, princess," Seifer said. "Were you caught between time?"

"No." Squall hated his inarticulate nature. The right words wouldn't come to him.

"Died how? What happened?"

Squall hadn't exactly been around to observe the play by play. His heart had stopped the instant Lore had taken his first whaling breath. Resuscitation had failed, though not for lack of trying. He'd never forget the haunted look on his friends' faces when Rinoa had finally brought him back.

Seifer led Leonhart to the couch by the window. The sky was a strip of pale pink fading into blue. The dying light was strong enough to cast square patterns along the floor.

"Explain," Seifer said coaxingly, hand resting on Leonhart's knee.

Squall brushed his bangs out of his eyes, half his face lit by the dusk light. "The spell was supposed to kill me," he said.

Seifer studied Leonhart's face, at once soft and sharp, altogether masculine and beautiful. So beautiful it made him ache. He had to force himself to focus on the words spoken and not the way lush lips looked while forming them.

Licking his lips, Squall continued, "We didn't realize it would happen. At the time, we were more concerned with complications delivering Lore."

Unable to stop himself, Seifer reached out and traced his thumb along Leonhart's cheek. He silently urged the man to keep going.

In Squall's head the sequence of events was clear until the fateful moment his son first breathed. Then his memories fell away into nothingness. "Odine has different theories, but it's likely that when Lore left me, once he could live without me, it triggered the spell to complete itself."

"And you died?" Seifer's voice came out as a sharp whisper.

Squall nodded. "Odine put me in stasis. Eventually, Rinoa was able to reverse the spell's effects."

Seifer wondered at the phrasing. "How long is eventually?" In the relative scheme of being dead, ten seconds or ten minutes didn't make a difference, brain damage excluded. Dead was still dead.

"A couple weeks," Squall said, almost too quiet to hear. Three weeks, six days, nine hours, seven minutes, and thirty-six seconds to be exact. It was on his medical chart. And in that time, his newborn son hadn't known his touch or the sound of his voice.

Seifer felt gutted and empty. Needing to stem the rush of loss before he bled out of his figurative wound, he stood from the couch and pulled Leonhart with him. "Where's your room?"

No questions necessary, Squall led Seifer out of the office. Their fingers laced together and Seifer's grip was painful. He dismissed everyone's concerned gazes and simply nodded when they asked if everything was okay. Out into the hall, trailed by palace guards who were hard pressed to leave Seifer alone with him, he made his way through the palace until he came to his rooms. Through another sitting room, they finally reached the bedroom.

Maddened by the thought that Ultimecia had narrowly cost him something so dear, Seifer tumbled Leonhart to the bed and ran his hands over him. He needed to feel the warmth of the man's body, the pulse of blood beneath his skin. He needed to know that Leonhart was alive.

Squall expected Seifer to start pulling at his clothes, but the man settled behind him and went still.

Seifer wound his arms around Leonhart and threw a leg over his thighs. "Just let me hold you awhile." He kissed the nape of a pale neck.

Dinner passed without them. Two hours into their seclusion, a meek knocker at the door asked if they were okay, but Seifer's sniped reply of "Fuck off!" made sure no one knocked again.

"That was Ellone," Squall said in a sleepy voice.

"I don't care who it was." Seifer pressed his nose to the curve of Leonhart's neck and shoulder.

Squall kept expecting Seifer to start something. For the past hour he'd felt the man's erection against the small of his back, but Seifer simply held him. He began to drift off again when calloused fingers inched his shirt up. His eyes snapped open.

"Easy," Seifer said. He snuck his hand under Leonhart's shirt and pushed the loose band of his jeans lower. "I'm not copping a feel."

Despite this assurance, the skin that Seifer touched became flushed with heat. Squall shivered in anticipation.

Seifer felt the scarred knot of skin that formed a clean line on Leonhart's abdomen. It was the only visible evidence of Leonhart's pregnancy, and subsequently the death that followed. Now he knew why the wound had scarred. The healing had been delayed.

"Maybe just a little feel," Seifer said as he skimmed his fingers lower.

Squall rocked his hips back against the cradle of Seifer's pelvis. Heat slithered into his groin when teasing fingers traced the band of his boxer briefs, not quite dipping inside.

Seifer drew his fingers away. As much as he wanted Leonhart's lithe body writhing beneath him, he reminded himself that knocking Leonhart up essentially a death sentence. Condoms or no condoms, he wasn't willing to take that risk. "Much as I'd enjoy breaking in this bed, I'm still shell shocked from the bomb you dropped."

Squall hugged Seifer's arms to his chest, content to abstain so long as wandering hands didn't tease him. "Lore's worried," he said.

"The kid cares about you. He's not alone in that."

"Tomorrow won't be easy on him."

Seifer hummed a note of agreement, suddenly able to understand Lore's overprotective nature. "He can handle himself."

"I know," Squall said. He thought of Lore enlisting. "He wants to enlist."

Seifer was silent for a long moment, then said, "Good for him."

"You encouraged this, didn't you?"

"He wanted to train up. Nothing wrong with that."

Squall shifted around until he faced Seifer. Reaching up, he cupped his stubbled cheek. "He could get hurt."

"Pot meet kettle," Seifer said with a laugh. "Princess, you're still on active duty."

"Lore has options I never had."

"You've had other options since the war, but you're still in the game. You don't see me running off to uncharted islands for months at a time."

"Garden wouldn't welcome you back."

"No offense, sweetheart, but I wouldn't reenlist if they groveled at my feet with a six figure pay raise. There will always be job openings for mercs and not everyone wants it on the books like you institutionalized folks over at Garden."

"Do you trade off the books?" Squall asked, tone sharp.

Seifer grinned, impish and suggestive. "The things you don't know about me."

Squall rolled his eyes. Seifer liked to edge into grey territory when it came to morality, but the man wouldn't run or supply unauthorized hits. Relaxing, he rested his head on his bicep.

"Given the kid's gene pool, it's a shame to waste him on soccer and a degree in mechanical engineering."

"Mechanical engineering?" Squall queried.

With a shrug that jostled them both, Seifer said, "The kid might have mentioned something about it." The kid had a thing for math and mechanics and a knack for spatial reasoning when it came to strategizing on the battlefield. Three months was a long time to observe someone's fighting technique and listen to them babble when they weren't pining like a daddy's boy.

Squall didn't press the subject. Seifer would never admit to knowing Lore's likes and dislikes. It was a strange turn on.

"Turn over, you fucking tease." Seifer rolled Leonhart away and slid in behind him, resuming their previous position. "You can't look at me like that and not expect me to do something."

Squall wondered if his arousal had been that apparent. Soft lips brushed against his ear and trailed along his neck.

"Just stay like this until we have to leave," Seifer said.

Squall estimated the time to be just after midnight. They'd been cooped up in bed for over four hours.

"What are the chances of you behaving yourself if I get out of my work clothes?"

Squall disentangled himself. He hardly lacked control, at least not any more than Seifer did. To prove this point, he proceeded to strip down to his t-shirt and boxer briefs.

Seifer followed suit and folded his clothes as neatly as he could. He'd have to run home in the morning. Anything borrowed from the palace would probably be an Estharian robe.

The feel of bare skin as they settled beneath the covers was almost too much to handle. Seifer indulged in a few gropes, focused mainly on Leonhart's pert ass. They faced each other with their erections nestled together.

The hot need for fulfillment slowly abated. Their arousal became secondary, merely a side effect of proximity. Squall closed his eyes, but opened them every so often to find Seifer still watching him.

"Is that what the time gap between pictures was about?" Seifer asked as the thought occurred to him.

Squall nodded, heavy lids opening once again. "Lore was twelve when he found out what happened to me. A reporter came to him at school. We never wanted him to know."

"That explains his complex." The comment earned Seifer a jab to the stomach.

"I came home and found him burning pictures in the kitchen sink. He didn't get them all."

"Just the ones where you were ready to pop and the ones right after?"

Squall nodded again. "Selphie has the digitals on backup, but Lore saw them as a reason to hate himself."

After a thoughtful moment, Seifer said, "He's a good kid."

Squall placed a lingering kiss to the inside of Seifer's bicep. As he met watchful green eyes, everything clicked into place. He finally understood what he felt for his arrogant rival. The revelation wasn't the shock he would have anticipated. Although he'd struggled from the very beginning to understand his persistent attraction, the feelings themselves weren't new. He'd had them for months, growing and changing and altogether impossible to grasp.

He didn't know if he should keep his newfound understanding locked inside like a dirty little secret. If he'd learned anything over the past two days, it was that Seifer didn't scare easy. He wanted to believe that telling Seifer wouldn't change anything, but it had to change something.

Eyes intent on the hollow of Seifer's collar, Squall said, "I think…"

When Leonhart didn't finish, Seifer prompted, "What do you think?"

There was a noise in Squall's ears, the same rush of blood that threatened to drown his senses during battle. "I love you."

The statement hung between them, making the air thick and dangerous. Squall wasn't entirely sure he'd spoken the words aloud. He couldn't hear over the blood rush. He thought maybe he'd spoken the words in his head and that Seifer was still waiting for him to say something.

"Fuck," Seifer whispered. He was annoyed and relieved at the same time. Part of him had wanted to brave the waters before Leonhart, but another part of him reveled in the assurance that he wasn't alone.

Squall closed his eyes and counted heartbeats. He was suddenly certain Seifer would walk away. This wasn't what either of them had signed up for. He breathed deep, inhaling the faded vestiges of aftershave, heady cologne, and a hint of sweat. He tried to imprint this last moment in his mind.

"Today, in my office," Seifer began, his hand coming to rest at the nape of Leonhart's neck. He gave a reassuring squeeze. "I realized it. For a split second, I knew. I tried to psych myself out of it." For six months, he'd believed the feeling would pass like a cold he'd eventually build an immunity against. Instead it had grown stronger, dug deeper into him, and spawned a multitude of other feelings like a mutated viral epidemic. Love was a disease; a beautiful, taciturn, pert assed disease.

Letting out a tense sigh, Seifer continued, "When you left my office, I knew I'd fucked up. I couldn't get past not having control over what I felt." He ghosted his fingers over Leonhart's cheek and waited for him to look up. "I've been in love with you for awhile. Maybe since the beginning." _Maybe forever_, he thought to himself. Some viruses had a long incubation period.

Squall surged forward and rolled Seifer onto his back. Seated astride the body of heavy muscle, he pinned broad shoulders and stared Seifer down. He searched for some flicker of deceit, anything that would indicate the ex-knight were simply trying to placate him. The soft affection he found in Seifer's gaze spoke only of love.

Trust didn't come easily for Squall, so he felt the need to secure Seifer's confession to something tangible. "If you're lying, I will kill you."

The jerk that Seifer's cock gave caught both their attention. They slanted twin looks towards the bulge in his boxers.

"I've never been more turned on by you," Seifer said, grinning lecherously. The threat of violence should have been terrifying considering the one person who could actually make good on it currently had him pinned to a mattress.

Squall knew he was in love with Seifer when he found the man's lechery endearing.

"So beautiful," Seifer whispered. He traced the smile on Leonhart's lips, wondering if the man even knew it was there.

Leaning forward slowly, Squall brought his chest flush with Seifer's and brushed their mouths together. Slotting their lips, he deepened the kiss and slowly worked his way inside.

Seifer took hold of Leonhart's hips and ground their erections together. He fought Leonhart's tongue for dominance, but gave in when teeth nipped his bottom lip in reprimand.

Squall drank in wet heat, tasting and loving. He was lost.

They began to rock against each other. Seifer sank his fingers into the firm flesh of Leonhart's ass.

Need coursed through Squall's body, pulsing downward to the base of his spine. His hole clenched and unclenched, empty and wanting. The dig of Seifer's fingers into his cheeks reminded him of what was missing. He rolled his hips faster and harder. Without warning, Seifer reached lower and pressed a finger against his entrance, the sensation muffled by a cotton barrier. The pressure was still delicious. Seifer rubbed along his perineum, pushing inward behind his balls until hot shocks of pleasure sparked inside him. "Harder," he half-begged.

At an awkward angle, Seifer bucked against Leonhart's writhing body and mercilessly massaged his prostate from the outside. The unhinged whimper Leonhart emitted told him he was close. He pressed his middle and index finger harder against soft flesh and rubbed in quick, firm circles until Leonhart's whole body seized against him.

Hips stuttering desperately, Squall sought friction from in front and behind. He lost his rhythm, incoherent and mindless as Seifer wrenched an orgasm out of him.

Leonhart became an erotic mess. His whipcord lean body rutted in ecstasy, the roll of slim hips uncontrolled and perfect. The sight sent Seifer over the edge. He came hard and quick, more interested in watching his rival than milking his dick.

Heedless of the spilled seed, they kept rutting against each other. Seifer's fingers eased their massage, but he couldn't bring himself to stop because he loved the visible tremors that ran through Leonhart's body from the stimulation. Breaths mingling, they studied each other, faces only inches apart. Eventually, they settled into stillness.

Seifer cradled Leonhart's face. "I don't understand how it happened." He let his head fall back and laughed, overwhelmed by a slew of sappy emotions he'd sworn never to fall victim to.

"Is it the spell?" Squall asked, voicing the question they were both avoiding. Another shiver raced through him, his body still recovering.

"The quack thinks it reacted to my being here, right?" Seifer said. Was this why he couldn't get enough of Leonhart, because the spell was pushing them together?

"It's possible." Squall maneuvered off of Seifer and settled beside him.

Seifer scowled. "No, that's not what this is." What he felt for Leonhart was real. When he was around him he felt content, albeit he was also in a state of constant arousal. Ultimecia's mind games had never felt like this. There would have been a distinct sense of wrongness, an unnatural pull inside his head and whispering voices that weren't his own telling him what to do.

"We can't know for sure," Squall admonished.

"I know what I feel," Seifer said, more sternly this time.

"We can't rule it out." As heartfelt as Squall's confession had been, it was undermined by the ugly reality of para-magic. They didn't know how the spell worked. They couldn't be certain that it hadn't affected their decisions from the very beginning.

Seifer balked at the notion that his feelings weren't his own. Twining their hands together, he pinned Leonhart to the bed and hovered over him. "I know what her spells were like. I've felt her magic in my head, the persuasion of it. This is different. This is real."

"Okay," Squall said, flexing his fingers around Seifer's. He'd take Seifer at his word. Drawing his legs up, he hugged Seifer's waist with his thighs.

When Leonhart's taut body arched up and rubbed against him, Seifer groaned his regret and released his hands. "I'm gonna need a pillow wall."

Regretting the loss of contact, Seifer broke away from the delicious heat of Leonhart's body. After mistaking the walk in closet for the bathroom, he found what he was looking for and returned with a wet cloth. He stripped out of his boxers and forced his eyes away when Leonhart arched off the bed to slide out of his own cum stained undergarment.

Lying naked together was the ultimate test of wills. Seifer ended up wedging a pillow between his cock and Leonhart's luscious ass. Better safe than sorry. After drawing the blanket over them, he spooned behind the smaller man and trapped him securely with his arms.

"Will you sleep?" Seifer asked.

"No." Squall was too nervous about his impending appointment. A sliver of doubt curled around the edges of his mind. He realized with startling clarity that he couldn't trust his feelings for Seifer. There was nothing warm and fuzzy about his love for the man. The possibility that none of this was real terrified him. What if everything he felt disappeared the instant Rinoa neutralized the para-magic?

"This is real," Seifer said. He pressed a kiss to Leonhart's bare shoulder. "It has to be."

Squall responded by shifting deeper into Seifer's embrace.

TBC…

==Author's note==

Mean author is mean.

It's been a year, give or take a few days, since my last update. I do have a lot written for the next chapter, which will hopefully be the final chapter if it works out the way I want it to. But, as you probably know from my other empty promises, I could have 99% of the next chapter written and still find stuff to edit for another year. I'm crap at meeting the deadlines I set myself, but I'm aiming to finish this monster epic before June. *crosses fingers *

The love confessions came kind of easy considering how resistant these boys were the whole time. But I've always imagined that their ignorance was never willful, so once they realized the truth they would man up and confess. IDK.

Sorry for errors. I never did bother seeking a beta. Volunteers are welcome, btw. No need to overhaul the whole story if you just want to clean up this chapter and maybe check the next one when it's ready.


	48. Chapter 48

The amazing Xander B beta read this chapter for me. Thank you so much!

**Update 2/18/13:** This story is not abandoned. Chapter 49 is in the works, just very slow going. It has an outline. I also have an epilogue planned, to end things on an even 50 chapters.

Defining Love

Chapter Forty-eight

Breakfast was a tense affair. When the much talked about couple finally emerged from hibernation, they were met with stiff smiles and hushed glances. No one had fully adjusted to the budding romance between the once sworn enemies. It would take time, patience, and a lot of tequila.

Table conversation wasn't helped by the fact that no one wanted to mention the reason they were gathered in the first place. There was an unspoken fear that they might jinx Squall simply by asking how he felt.

"Eat something," Seifer said in a low voice.

Despite the large spread of gourmet dishes, Squall hadn't taken a plate for himself. He just worked on his coffee, stomach anxious and likely to turn on him at any moment. He'd rather gag his coffee back up in the nearest bathroom than bacon and eggs. Reading concern in Seifer's eyes, he plucked a grape from the man's fruit salad.

"Happy?" Squall asked, taking the grape into his mouth.

"Not in the least." Seifer pushed his plate between them and gestured with his fork to the rest of the fruit. He tracked the movement as Leonhart selected a cube of honeydew.

Leonhart's fingers weren't tapered or delicate, but blunt and calloused from a lifetime of wielding weapons. Those fingers traced patterns into his body and clutched at his back with need; they brushed through his hair as he drifted off to sleep. He found himself undone by the sight of his rival's hands. Enraptured, he continued to watch as Leonhart darted his tongue out to lick at the juices that threatened to drip from the melon.

Ellone leaned in toward Seifer and said, "You have to teach me how to do that."

Scandalized for a moment, Seifer thought the woman was asking to learn how to be seductive. Then he realized she meant how to cajole Leonhart into eating. He could have explained that screwing Leonhart senseless on a nightly basis gave him leverage, but he wasn't crass enough to say this to the man's sister. He settled for innuendo and said, "It takes a specific kind of persuasion."

Ellone's mind wasn't immediately drawn to the underlying meaning, but she got there eventually and looked away with a blush. Her brother had chosen a cheeky man.

"Don't," Squall said under his breath.

"I'm being good." Being good was more than Seifer could say for Leonhart who had another bit of melon pressed against those soft as sin lips. He didn't know if Leonhart was doing it on purpose, but his cock was interested all the same.

Squall arched a brow that told the ex-knight he'd better keep it that way. The power of persuasion worked both ways. He slid the melon into his mouth and sucked juice from the tip of his finger. Black overtook the jade of Seifer's eyes.

A small cough from Irvine interrupted the building need between rivals.

Squall remembered himself and pushed the plate of fruit away.

If the mood had been awkward at the table before, it was more so when everyone realized that Seifer and Squall were in a world of their own.

Lore stared out the window and valiantly thought of molecular structures for his upcoming exam. He needed a distraction from his father's impending physical and the nauseating display between the two across the table.

/-|-\

When Squall received another call from Balamb Garden, Lore waited outside the office door. He stared out the window, registering nothing, but his own thoughts.

Seifer joined Lore as he studied the manicured lawns outside. He'd never been keen on correcting anyone's misunderstandings, but he felt duty bound to explain that he'd never meant Leonhart any harm. "I didn't know how bad it was."

Not entirely sure what the ex-knight meant, Lore said, "You mean that he died?"

Seifer made a sound of agreement, but it came out slightly strangled.

Eyes fixed on the stylized shrubbery outside, Lore found an outlet for his stress by blaming Seifer. It was easier to be pissed at someone who'd already screwed with his life, easier to hate the man beside him than a dead sorceress. "I'll hate you, you know. If it happens again because of you," he knew it wasn't Seifer's fault; none of them had asked for this. In a quieter, less certain voice, he added, "I'll really hate you."

Seifer struggled to understand why his stomach dropped, why the thought of Lore truly hating him struck a painful chord inside of him. "I'll hate me too," he said. The statement earned a sharp look from the boy, but the anger in those blue-green eyes quickly melted into understanding and sympathy.

"I remember you."

Seifer gave the boy a questioning look.

"I always thought it was some kind of weird dream. But then you moved here and Dad told me who you were; I realized it wasn't."

When Seifer finally understood, he nodded. "I saw you twice. You were sick the first time." He laughed at the memory of that night. "There were lions all over your room."

Lore glanced away, embarrassed.

Seifer didn't regret that he'd left Leonhart and his son. As far as he'd known, there hadn't been any reason for him to stay. He'd never had the itch for fatherhood. "I didn't know at first, that you were my kid," he admitted.

The question Lore wanted to ask wouldn't form on his lips. When his mind finally caught up with him, he took a moment to consider how he'd feel depending on how Seifer responded once he'd asked. His feelings weren't particularly strong in either direction, but he couldn't just let the moment go without asking, "Would knowing have changed anything?"

"No," Seifer said, not needing to think on it, "I wouldn't have been much good to you if I'd stuck around." Then, more honestly, he added, "It's not something I wanted. You were already six. I'd lost seven years of my life. I didn't want to be anything for anyone but myself."

Quietly, as if hoping his confession would go unheard, Lore said, "I'm glad you're here now."

Before Seifer could say anything in reply, Leonhart's father swept into the room and announced that it was time to leave. The president's timing was unfortunate, but Seifer doubted he could have formed an appropriate response to Lore's admission.

With a final curious glance at Lore, Seifer said, "I'll get Leonhart."

Once inside the office, Seifer had the pleasure of interrupting yet another conference call. A screen mounted on the wall across from the desk showed a redheaded young man who broke off mid-sentence when Leonhart raised a hand for silence.

"Seifer, wait outside."

"I'd rather wait here," Seifer said, moving to stand beside his rueful bedmate.

Squall crossed his arms and glared in warning.

On screen, the redhead eyed Seifer with evident confusion. "Commander?"

"I have your report, Dannis," Squall said by way of dismissal.

"Do you want an update on Diablos?"

Squall's immediate response would have been an affirmative; he felt indebted to Diablos for their time on the island and hoped to see the Guardian Force situated safe and free in the world. With Seifer's preening presence at his side, he simply shook his head. "Another time."

"Sir," Dannis said in protest, his eyes cutting away to Seifer, "is everything alright?"

Seifer slung a possessive arm around Leonhart's shoulders. "I haven't got a gun to his head, but who knows what'll happen once the cameras are off."

"Commander," Dannis said, halting and uncertain. He stepped closer to the screen as if to reach through it.

"I'm fine."

"But if you're-"

With all the tact of an alpha male whose territory has been threatened, Seifer reacted to the soldier's expression of concern. "Who the fuck is this guy?"

The raised hackles and bared teeth of jealousy reminded Squall of Cale and the reason the man was dead. "Enough," he said in a tone that would have made saner men quiver.

Seifer continued to eye the redhead suspiciously. "Lieutenant, huh? Barely graduated then."

"And you'd know? How's it your business?"

Squall moved to the desk to cut the video feed. Dannis's eyes followed after him before cutting back to the loudmouthed blond.

"Everything to do with Leonhart is my business."

"Do you know who you're messing with?"

"I can hazard a guess," Seifer said, manic grin in place as he removed the filter between his mouth and brain. "You're an ankle biter who stumbled into his rank and seems to think he can let his hero worship for his superiors get out of hand without their husbands kicking your ass." He took a menacing step towards the screen. "If your eyes drop to his ass again, I'll cut you open to prove you're a gutless little shit."

Before a wild-eyed Dannis could retort, the screen went blank. Squall gripped the edge of the desk with white knuckles.

Seifer turned around and crossed his arms. "What?" he asked, probing for a reaction from Leonhart.

With a sigh, Squall sank into the plush chair. He carded a hand through his hair and arched his eyebrows in question. "Husband?"

Dismissing his slip of tongue, Seifer said, "It might've been suggested." When he saw Leonhart's lips quiver in amusement, he grimaced. "'Boyfriend' would've sounded gay."

Squall couldn't keep from laughing. He tipped his head back and let the feeling pour out of him. Most of that morning's anxiety drained away. He suspected Seifer's overreaction to Dannis had more to do with stress than actual jealousy, which was comforting in its own way.

When his amusement tapered, Squall said, "You realize the irony."

Seifer didn't care about irony or his poor word choice. He was too busy replaying the sound of Leonhart's laugh. Hyne, when had he become a sap?

"It could've been worse," Seifer said, "He could've recognized me."

"There's that," Squall agreed.

"It's about time we left."

Any shred of amusement vanished. Squall rose to his feet, expression closed off and face paler than seconds before. As he approached, Seifer lifted an arm and he slid into the warmth of the embrace.

"He wasn't looking at me," Squall said as an afterthought. Further irony, he supposed, that someone he'd likened to Seifer stood accused of checking him out.

Letting his arm drop, Seifer smoothed a hand over the curve of Leonhart's ass. He pressed his middle finger along the cleft and rubbed. "Princess, everyone wants to fuck this ass with their eyes."

Squall never knew it was possible to feel simultaneously aroused and disgusted. He expressed neither emotion nor did he respond verbally.

/-|-\

If Squall weren't torn between anxiety over the para-magic and giddy affection for the looks Seifer kept giving him, he would have coordinated their departure for the laboratory to avoid all detection. As it was, they packed into three black SUVs and traveled the city streets in broad daylight. Squall sat low in his seat even though the tinted windows ensured no one would be able to see inside.

When the broad expanse of desert filled the horizon, Squall straightened and kept a look out for the laboratory. Behind him, he could feel the vibrations from Lore drumming on the door's armrest.

"It's going to be okay," Squall said.

Lore stopped his drum solo. "You can't know that."

Seifer cut a quick glance from the dusty road to Leonhart. "Worse comes to worst, at least we know Heartily can bring him back." He met the kid's horrified expression in the rearview mirror.

"That makes me feel so much better," Lore deadpanned.

"It should," Seifer said. If he were being completely honest, he was just as terrified as the kid. The fact that Heartily had raised Leonhart from the dead once did nothing to assuage his fears.

Taking pains to keep his tone as sincere and void of accusation as possible, Lore asked, "What if it's because of you and it can't be stopped?"

Tensing, Squall had the sudden urge to cover his ears.

Seifer squinted against the sun as he steered the car west. "Then I'll leave." The statement left him gutted and he couldn't bring himself to look at Leonhart.

"Just like that," Lore said, accusation giving his tone an edge. How could Seifer leave his dad?

"It's not like I'd have a choice."

"Stop," Squall said. He sounded quiet, voice small, his arms folded across his chest as he pressed back against the seat. All morning his thoughts had been wrapped up in Seifer, replaying their conversation from the night before. He'd become so distracted by the heady feeling between them that he'd ignored the possible consequences. If the spell were somehow linked to Seifer and Rinoa couldn't permanently eradicate it, then he wouldn't be able to continue his relationship with the man. He wasn't sure which filled him with more dread; not being able to stay with Seifer or discovering that his desire to be with the man was merely the spell's manipulation.

Seifer reached out and squeezed Leonhart's knee. "Hey," he said, urging the man to look at him, "this is nothing."

Squall turned his attention out the window, chest heavy as if compressed by a cinderblock. When Seifer's hand began to retreat, he snatched it back. He didn't take his eyes off the desert as he folded his hand over Seifer's and squeezed.

The need to kill something rose up in Seifer. He needed to get his hands dirty and exhaust himself. "Almost there," he said, taxed of reassurances.

/-|-\

The number of cars crammed into the small parking lot outside the laboratory unnerved Squall. The lot was usually vacant. As he stepped into the white glare of sunlight, he shaded his eyes and scanned the windshields for Press stickers. He didn't want reporters anywhere near him or his family.

"I take it that it's not always this crowded," Seifer said, observing Leonhart's glare around the packed parking lot.

Brow furrowed in concern, Squall didn't bother answering. Irvine and Laguna ended up blocking two other cars in because there were no more spots available.

"Darlin'," Irvine called as he jogged over, "what's going on?"

Selphie, Rinoa, and Ellone hurried to catch up to the quickly forming group. Laguna and his escort of guards soon joined them. Everyone gathered around Squall, waiting for his input.

Squall shifted his weight. "It's not the press, but word will have already gotten out."

"There was always that risk," Irvine said, sympathy apparent. "It'll always be news."

Selphie pressed against her husband's side. "It's not anyone's business."

"I know, darlin'," Irvine said, arm slipping around his wife's tiny frame. "But that argument didn't get us anywhere last time either."

Seifer resented the cryptic references. It wasn't difficult to put two and two together, but his absence from past events made him an outsider. "Not that I don't enjoy standing around debating hypotheticals, but I'd rather not have the damn spell sitting in Leonhart any longer than necessary."

/-|-\

The front desk was unmanned. Recent visitors had tracked in sand and grit. Squall's feet scuffled on the polished stone floor.

"Where is everyone?" Ellone wondered aloud, spinning around as if expecting a crowd hidden in the corners.

"Underground," Rinoa said. "Most of the facility is underground." She suppressed a shiver, remembering her forced internment in stasis.

The distant echo of footsteps reached the group. Behind the desk, a corridor led to the lifts and stairwells. A man appeared in full Estharian garb, robes sweeping along the floor as he walked. He held a datapad and scribbled notes until he came within reach of the desk.

"You're early," the man said, barely sparing a glance at Squall. He tapped his pad as if to confirm his statement. "No matter, Dr. Odine can begin right away. I'm afraid there isn't room for everyone you've brought with you."

In a mock whisper to his bodyguards, Laguna said, "To think I was only going to cut Pandora's budget by ten percent."

Their escort, who had yet to introduce himself, lifted his eyes from his pad and zeroed in on Laguna. It took a moment for recognition to penetrate Laguna's paisley print shirt. "President Loire!"

Seifer grinned, willing to forgive Loire's horrible fashion sense for his ruthless sense of diplomacy.

Eyes sharp, Laguna studied Odine's assistant and arched a brow in a way that suggested he found the man lacking. "Why don't you lead the way and then we'll decide what happens from there?"

"Dr. Odine is highly particular of who's allowed access to the lower labs."

"Be that as it may," Laguna said, "this procedure is being done at my son's discretion. If Dr. Odine has any disputes, he'll have the opportunity to raise them in person."

Seifer revised his opinion of Leonhart's father and decided to be cautious in future interactions with the man. He had the distinct impression that the only reason he hadn't been arrested and deported from Esthar was because Loire had allowed him to stay.

Odine's assistant introduced himself as Mr. Perry and led the ten of them down the hall and to the lift. They loaded on in two groups, drawn through a series of underground tunnels until they docked on a platform deep beneath the desert. On the wall, a painted arrow and block lettering indicated that Lab VIII was through a wide archway. Directions were pointless since the archway was the only exit from the platform. The air was stale despite the hum of circulation vents, and it smelled of metal and the acid secreted by Malboro tentacles.

"How are you feeling?" Seifer asked, his hand a steady presence on the small of Leonhart's back.

"I'm fine." Squall had repeated the same phrase so often that his lips formed the response before he fully registered the question.

"Liar."

Squall pressed into Seifer's touch. The hand on his back felt large and strong. It was reassuring in a way that words couldn't have managed.

Beyond the arch, a narrow corridor stretched until it vanished in a pinprick of darkness. The lights were bundles of tubes that ran the length of the ceiling, reminding Seifer of glowsticks. They had an odd phosphorescent tinge that lit the dark metal walls an unclean color. His hand crept from Leonhart's back to his hip, drawing the man inches closer to his side.

"I'm not liking this." Despite speaking in a whisper, Seifer's words still echoed and drew Mr. Perry's attention.

"The Pandora Laboratory is renowned for its integrity and unparalleled standards of-"

"Speak up, I'm not sure President Loire can hear your promotional pandering." Interrupting Perry wasn't nearly as satisfying as breaking the man's nose would have been, but Seifer was supposed to be on his best behavior.

After an outraged stutter, Perry seemed to decide that shutting up was the only argument anyone would accept. He continued walking, steps stiff and self-conscious.

Lore edged closer to his father. The various doors they passed had no windows except narrow peep slots. The flaps over the slots opened from the outside. Lore imagined the doors were also only accessible from one side. No sounds came from the rooms beyond, but that didn't mean they weren't occupied.

Perry led them past a series of identical hallways that branched left and right. Some of them were unlit and fell away into darkness. Lore doubted he'd be able to navigate his way back to the lift if they moved in anything, but a straight path.

Eventually they did turn, and turned again. Lore glanced over his shoulder and mumbled, "Left, then right, then right, then left," under his breath.

The majority of the group had trained for the very instance of navigating mazes and memorizing layouts. There was no real danger that they'd find themselves trapped, but the metallic air, dirty lighting, and labyrinth of underground corridors bred an instinctive need to locate all exits.

There were no waiting rooms. Most of what went on in Odine's subterranean kingdom had nothing to do with practical medicine. His patients consisted of rats and monsters collected from the city's borders.

"Nearly there," Perry said, eyes on his pad. "Next corner."

Around that next corner a wide set of doors barred the way. Perry approached the side panel and tapped in the access code. The doors gave a pressurized sigh before slowly sliding apart.

Raised voices reached the hall from inside the room.

"I've been Squall's primary physician for twenty years," Kadowaki said with a note of self-importance.

"And I'm the foremost expert on para-magic in the world. What can you possibly hope to contribute here?"

"My oversight is non-negotiable."

Perry considered this an opportune moment to interrupt. He led the group into the cavernous room, effectively interrupting the argument taking place. "Dr. Odine, Commander Leonhart has arrived."

With a clap of his hands, Odine whirled around and exclaimed, "Wonderful!"

Dr. Kadowaki appeared less enthused. "Mr. Leonhart, I'd like a word."

"Somebody's in trouble," Seifer said. He gave Leonhart a small shove forward.

Squall glared at the ex-knight. "Is this your doing?"

"Yours, actually. Kadowaki wasn't thrilled that I was the one calling her instead of you."

With the resigned defeat of a man who would never be more than a scrawny cadet in the eyes of his doctor, Squall approached Kadowaki.

"Would you care to explain why I had to hear about your condition from Mr. Almasy?"

"…" Squall liked to assume that all questions were rhetorical, which saved him from having to answer.

Kadowaki crossed her arms and stared the commander down. "When it comes to your health, I've never given you any reason to avoid me."

"I decided against the risk of exposure," Squall said. "I didn't want to bring this to Balamb Garden."

In an instant Kadowaki's stern expression morphed into contrite sympathy. "My dear boy," she said, moving forward to envelope the man in a hug. "I'm so sorry. You know I would have flown out here, or anywhere you needed."

Squall remained stiff and awkward in the doctor's embrace, but he nodded his understanding against the softness of her hair.

Unable to watch how easily Leonhart transformed Kadowaki's wrath, Seifer studied his surroundings. The laboratory appeared to be modeled after a horror film. Screens mounted along the curved wall displayed figures of various monsters native to Esthar, most of them cut open and their innards catalogued. A large water tank stood in the center of the room, tubes and wires splayed out of it like strings on a marionette. The water inside was a murky green and every so often there was movement.

The last time Lore had seen Dr. Odine had been six years ago when his father finally agreed to stop his yearly physicals. Since then he'd gone to the school's doctor like every other kid in his class. Odine had a way of making his skin crawl. Every time the doctor looked at him, he swore the man was imagining what his insides looked like. Odine always sighed in disappointment when the tests revealed he didn't have para-magic.

There was a second story balcony that ran the circumference of the lab, closed off by a tinted window. It took a moment for Seifer to determine what the shadowy shapes behind the glass were. There was an audience, spectators who sat above, hidden and anonymous.

When Irvine spotted the audience he drew his gun, which in turn made Laguna's bodyguards draw theirs. "You have ten seconds to clear out!" he took aim while Laguna frantically ordered his guards to holster their guns.

"Better hope the glass isn't bullet proof," Seifer said. He grinned and waved as the indistinct shadows behind the glass shifted about.

"Ten!" Irvine began the countdown.

"That's quite unnecessary," Dr. Odine said. "They're here to learn. I handpicked these students to join us today."

"Nine!"

It wasn't until the gunman reached "Five!" that Odine realized negotiating with him was pointless. "Commander Leonhart, please order your man to stand down."

Squall set a hand on Irvine's raised forearm and urged him to lower the gun. "Irvine, they're civilians."

Teeth gritted, Irvine dropped his arm, but didn't holster the gun. "They have no right to be here."

"Agreed," said Selphie.

Odine made a calming gesture toward the crowd. "I'm not sure any of you understand the importance this development holds to the science community. There's a bigger picture to consider."

"I'm not here out of necessity," Squall said. "There are other experts."

"Surely you don't mean that."

Having her own reasons to avoid witnesses, it was Rinoa who issued the ultimatum. "Clear the room or we walk. Squall doesn't need you. I'm the one performing the actual spell."

From what little Seifer knew of Dr. Odine, he figured he was the type of man who didn't appreciate being inconsequential. The doctor had an inflated sense of self-worth and up until that moment, he had considered himself irreplaceable.

"You came to me," Odine said. He'd made countless concessions to the president's son over the years. "I'm a man of science. Observing the effects of Ultimecia's spell is a once in a life time opportunity for the men and women here today."

Squall stepped closer to the shorter man and said quietly, "You've breached patient confidentiality."

"It's already public knowledge," Odine argued.

Squall stepped back before he gave into the urge to lash out. On the issue of his pregnancy going public he had a very short fuse.

Seifer set a hand on Leonhart's shoulder. "Let's do this somewhere else, another room, someplace without gawkers."

"The room I had for my last exam," Squall said.

Odine shook his head. "That room isn't properly equipped."

Seifer envisioned inventive new ways to kill a man with his own lab coat. "Then make it equipped."

/-|-\

Back in the sterile room of white tile and aluminum countertops, Squall stood beside the exam table. The room couldn't accommodate the entire group. Only Seifer, Rinoa, Odine, and Kadowaki would remain.

"We'll be right outside," Laguna said, gesturing to the door.

Lore lingered by his father's side after the others left. "Why can't I stay?"

"I'll be fine," Squall said.

"Seifer gets to stay."

If the occasion had been less tense, Seifer would have gloated. "Because I need to get checked out too, half-pint."

Lore still didn't think that was any reason for him to wait in the hallway.

Ruffling his son's dark hair, Squall smiled gently. "Be with your grandfather."

Lore ducked his head and mumbled, "I love you."

With a kiss to Lore's temple, Squall said, "You too, cub."

As soon as the door closed behind Lore, Dr. Odine tossed a set of patient scrubs to the exam table. "Undress, please."

"Careful now," Seifer warned, "no one gets to make that request except me."

Rinoa spun around and faced the nearest corner. She covered her eyes for good measure. "I can't see anything."

Seifer laughed and stepped back to enjoy his unobstructed view of Leonhart's striptease.

Odine produced a second set of scrubs and held them out for the ex-knight. "You'll need to change as well, Mr. Almasy."

A quiet laugh escaped Squall before he could force a neutral reaction.

"These better fit," Seifer said as he began to unbutton his shirt. The scrubs did fit, but they were an unflattering sea foam green color that did nothing to bring out his eyes. Even Leonhart couldn't pull off the v-neck collar, but nothing could hide the appeal of his peach shaped ass.

Heat crept along Squall's neck. Seifer's eyes were like a physical force caressing his body.

"Are you guys decent yet?" Rinoa asked.

Seifer would have joked that Heartily had already seen both of them naked, but he didn't appreciate this fact when it came to Leonhart.

"You can turn around," Squall said.

Odine gestured to the table and pulled the monitoring equipment over. "We'll start with an ultrasound to see if there's been any progression."

Rinoa and Seifer positioned two folding chairs near the table.

Squall remained upright while Odine took his vitals and drew blood. Kadowaki worked on Seifer, charting his blood pressure and reflexes. Once standard procedure was finished, Odine directed Squall to lie down.

Shirt rucked up and stomach exposed, Squall took a fortifying breath. His muscles tensed at the smear of cold gel.

"This'll show the spell?" Seifer asked. He didn't think the spell had any physical presence.

"No," Odine said, voice tight with annoyance, "this is just to make sure fertilization hasn't occurred."

"We've been careful," Seifer said. He'd kept things intercrural since finding out and Leonhart had been strict with condoms before that.

Odine made a disgruntled noise. He tamped down on the urge to lecture the commander. Had he been given free rein to study the effects of the spell, there would be less unknown factors to deal with at the present moment. "This is para-magic, try to understand. Impregnation doesn't necessarily occur via intercourse."

Rinoa stared resolutely at the ground, suddenly finding immense interest in the plain white stone.

"It could be something as harmless as a handshake. Of course, that's assuming you've served some function in activating the spell."

Seifer appeared stricken. If he'd known touching Leonhart could do damage, he would have stayed on the other side of the city.

"A few days apart wouldn't have made any difference," Squall said, reading the look on Seifer's face. Not questioning whether he'd be met halfway, he lifted a hand for Seifer to take.

Seifer hastily snatched Leonhart's hand into his own. "What's the verdict, doc?" he asked Kadowaki.

Kadowaki studied the monitor intently. "Nothing out of the ordinary. There's older damage from the previous pregnancy, minor muscle distortion, widened pelvic bone, but no signs of a fetus or womb."

"I'll be the judge of that," Odine said. He pushed his glasses higher on his nose and leaned closer to the screen. He shifted the wand around, prolonging the procedure out of spite. Finally, he stood back and wiped the device free of lubricant. "A first semester med student can interpret ultrasounds," was the most agreement he'd give.

Next Odine used a handheld scanner that crackled with static as it passed over Squall's body. The spell seemed to inhabit his entire body, not just his stomach. Odine offered comparative readings by passing the device over himself and Dr. Kadowaki. The static went dead and so did the small needle that measured the strength of para-magic. Unsurprisingly, the readings were off the chart for Rinoa.

Seifer held his breath as Odine finally scanned him. For a shortly lived moment there was nothing. Then the needle jumped with a shrill crackle, followed by white noise.

The air turned solid and heavy in Seifer's lungs. He paced away and back again, fighting the violent need to hit something. "Dammit!" he cursed.

"Low readings, but present nonetheless," Odine declared, eyes warily following the blond man.

Seifer reclaimed Leonhart's hand and squeezed tight in apology.

"It's not your fault," Squall said.

"Keep telling yourself that."

Odine fussed over the dials on the scanner. "In all likelihood, this is the doing of Mr. Almasy."

Squall glared at the doctor.

"It doesn't matter, since I'm getting rid of it from both of you," Rinoa said. She gave Seifer a reassuring smile.

Odine rolled the sonogram away and rummaged through the supply cart. "I still have tests to run."

"What tests?" Kadowaki asked. "You've already taken readings of the magic."

"And now I need tissue samples."

Squall knew what came next. He squeezed Seifer's hand and watched Odine set out the necessary instruments.

Seifer followed Leonhart's line of sight. His stomach dropped when he saw the needles. "You're not getting near him with any of those." He blocked Odine's return to the exam table.

Shifting on the table, Squall tried to relax. "Seifer, it's okay."

"Is that really necessary?" Kadowaki asked.

Odine's patience snapped. "Do you know how limited samples of para-magic are? I'm still working off what I took from Mr. Leonhart sixteen years ago."

Rinoa rolled her eyes. "I gave you blood samples last month."

"You all seem to be under the mistaken impression that I'm the only one who benefits from my research." Odine set the tray on the supply cart with a clang. "Those blood samples, Miss Heartily, allow me to monitor the saturation of para-magic in your system. It could serve as an early warning if the levels become dangerous. I'm sure I don't need to explain to anyone what it would mean if the magic became too strong for you to control."

Unwavering in her disapproval, Rinoa said, "We're not lab rats for your experiments."

"And I have never treated you as such. I'll admit my bedside manner leaves a great deal to be desired. I rarely practice on humans. That doesn't mean I don't try to preserve life first and foremost."

"Your work ethics are questionable at best," Kadowaki said.

Odine gave the older women a rueful look as he snapped on a new set of gloves. He selected a long syringe. "Then it is fortunate we'll be done here soon."

"Would you like a sleeping draught?" Kadowaki asked, looking at the commander.

Squall shook his head. He'd done this before and his instincts refused sedation.

Seifer struggled to keep from knocking the syringe away as Odine aimed to stab it into Leonhart's stomach. His gut roiled in response as the sharp tip disappeared into tender flesh. Though Leonhart's expression remained impassive, the man's grip on his hand was painful.

"Relax," Odine said, "don't tense your muscles."

Rinoa pushed her chair back and turned around. "I can't watch."

Squall swallowed and buckled down. He relaxed as best he could, but the intense pinch couldn't be ignored. The pain wasn't bad, not compared to injuries he'd suffered in the past. It was the visual of the needle sinking into his body, the willful submission that allowed someone like Odine to dig around and extract pieces of him.

Kadowaki monitored Squall's vitals. Stress from the procedure caused a spike in his heart rate, but nothing unexpected appeared on the monitors.

Odine depressed a lever on the handle, which made a loud click. He slowly withdrew the needle. He took a couple more samples, grumbling when he secured each syringe in a container without the help of his assistant. He returned the tray to the counter and disposed of his gloves.

Over his shoulder, Odine asked, "Miss Heartily, are you ready to begin?"

Standing from her seat, Rinoa responded with a firm, "Yes."

Rinoa had no reason to practice spells and every reason to conceal that she was a sorceress. Her power had slept for many years, but the cool sensation flowed beneath her skin when she whispered to it. Sorcery was never far from her fingertips.

"You can sit up," Rinoa said as she brushed her fingers over the back of Squall's hand.

Squall sat upright with some difficulty. When Kadowaki produced a potion from her lab coat he took the vial without a word.

"I'll need your hands," Rinoa said.

Squall hadn't been conscious the last time she'd broken the spell. Legs draped over the edge of the exam table, he shared a brief look with Seifer before he held his hands out.

Seifer saw the nerves in Heartily's dark eyes. He'd never known her to lie about what she was capable of handling, even if she had a tendency to bite off more than she could chew. "Don't break him."

Rinoa smiled at Seifer, appreciating his levity. "I don't plan on it."

Coldness set in as soon as Rinoa had Squall's hands in her own. There was resistance, a magnetic push between them. She tested it, drew her magic closer to the surface and felt the push increase. "You have to let me in," she said. "You're fighting."

Squall wasn't aware of any resistance on his part. He gripped Rinoa's hands more firmly.

"It's in his nature," Seifer said, placing a hand on Leonhart's shoulder.

When the resistance lessened, Rinoa studied Squall's guarded expression. His barriers never seemed to come down, which was why they'd never worked as a couple. Letting people in was against Squall's basic instinct and there was no changing that. She suspected it had been easier last time because Squall had been dead, and dead men couldn't exactly put up a fight.

Squall noted that Rinoa's hands lacked the weight and coarseness of Seifer's. Preoccupied with this comparison, a suspicion formed in the back of his mind. When Seifer's hand dropped from his shoulder, he realized a moment too late what would happen.

A sudden force propelled Rinoa back. She was quick to regain her balance and hunched defensively until her mind convinced her body she wasn't under attack.

"I'm sorry," Squall said. He made no move to help her. Touching Rinoa didn't seem like a good idea.

"What the hell was that?" Seifer asked.

Kadowaki approached Rinoa. "Dear, are you alright?"

"I'm okay," Rinoa said. She moved back into place, cautious this time. Her expression became wistful. "Is it that hard to let me in?"

"I'm sorry," Squall repeated.

"I can't do this if you don't let me in."

"..." Squall was only aware of his resistance because of how unnatural Rinoa's presence felt compared to Seifer's.

"You had it for a moment."

Squall shook his head. "That was Seifer."

Confused, Rinoa glanced at Seifer. "What do you mean?"

Brushing his bangs from his eyes, Squall fixed his attention on the floor. In attempt to avoid explanation he instead provided a solution. "If Seifer keeps his hand on my shoulder, it should be okay."

Arms crossed as if to deny compliance without a proper explanation, Seifer asked, "How do you figure?"

Realization was bittersweet for Rinoa. "Because when you touched him a moment ago, he stopped fighting."

"You've done this before though," Seifer said.

Odine was scribbling madly on a paper notepad. "Fascinating," he said, his expression gleeful. "Mr. Leonhart was deceased when Miss Heartily last performed her craft on him. I never anticipated the spell would link with his subconscious."

"And my touching you helps how?" Seifer inquired.

Slowly, Squall lifted his eyes from the floor and met Seifer's worried gaze. Reluctant to admit the truth, which he knew Seifer would lord over his head at every opportunity, he said, "I don't mind when it's you."

Before anyone had the time to blink, Seifer's mouth was on Squall's.

Taken by surprise, Squall retreated, but never made it far. Seifer chased him and braced a hand behind his head to keep him in place. Relenting to the kiss, he tilted his head for a better angle. The desire for contact was constant and unyielding, appropriate venue or not.

The gurgle of static managed to grab Seifer's attention. The heated moment died a swift death at the sight of Odine's wrinkled face inches away, scanner sweeping over them and giving off a loud reading. He tore away from Leonhart and stalked to the other side of the room.

Careless of his intrusion on the lovers' moment, Odine continued to scan Squall. "Remarkable," he said. "The readings jumped a considerable degree."

"So it's definitely me then," Seifer said, pacing the length of the counter and keeping his distance.

"Nothing is without a margin of error, but all evidence points to that conclusion."

"It doesn't matter," Rinoa said, trying to rush things along and ignore what she'd just seen.

"There are a number of questions this raises," Odine said, lost in thought. He turned to Seifer and asked, "Could Ultimecia have predicted your union?"

"Who I'd end up with wasn't one of her greater concerns."

"But she desired it, yes?"

Seifer shared a look with Leonhart. "I was told she wanted our gene pools."

"That's just one theory," Odine said. "Perhaps she desired an alliance between you and the commander."

"It's difficult to have an alliance when one half of it is dead. The spell kills him, remember?"

"Only without a sorceress is the spell deadly. What better incentive for the commander's cooperation than his life?"

"Why knock him up then? Why not enchant him and be done with it?" Seifer countered, eager to dispute any notion that his relationship with Leonhart had been Ultimecia's doing. He'd known Ultimecia better than anyone. Her need for control had been absolute. His resistance to her mind games made him unsuitable as a knight. She'd never have risked instating two knights, both stubborn to a fault and too willful to be fully controlled. She'd wanted Lore, to raise and brainwash into the perfect little soldier.

"I cannot say with complete certainty."

"Then don't."

"Seifer," Squall said, his tone bidding the man to come to him.

With some hesitance, Seifer returned just out of reach. "Let's get on with it."

Doubt surfaced in Squall. He frowned at Seifer, blaming the man for keeping his distance and making him doubt what was between them. They'd agreed that their feelings for each other weren't forged by magic.

In response to Leonhart's accusing stare, Seifer's tension loosened. He moved closer and set his hand on the man's knee. "Every touch makes it worse."

"Not for much longer, if you two are finished," Rinoa said, arms crossed with impatience.

Seifer took up a position at Leonhart's side, hand upon his neck. He stroked the knob of bone at the nape, calling as much attention to his touch as possible.

"Let's try this again, shall we?" Rinoa held her hands out for Squall's.

There was no resistance when Rinoa joined hands with Squall. Her power floated to the surface, sliding over her skin like a chill fog. She sensed the spell in Squall. It was a shadow cut off from its source. With a single thought, it fell under her control.

The spell felt whole this time, more solid and formed. She'd always assumed the fragmented feeling from before had been due to Lore, that the absence of the baby from Squall's body had fractured the spell itself. Now, she knew different. The spell had never been complete without Seifer. She'd never truly broken it.

"Seifer, give me your hand," she said, "and take one of Squall's. Form a circle."

Once they'd joined hands, she began to draw the power to a focused point. Because her mind already associated the spell with Squall's stomach, she made that the focus. The spell gathered slowly, bits drawn from Seifer into Squall. Its tendrils retracted, gathering into itself until it was a solid ball of red light. The gathered magic pulsed with a slow and steady beat, a heart that didn't belong.

She broke the circle and placed a hand over Squall's stomach. When the light was within her reach, she closed her fist around it. The burst of heat took her by surprise, but she didn't let go. A burned hand could heal, but she couldn't allow herself to falter.

With a final crushing squeeze, the light vanished and the coolness of her magic took its place, healing her hand.

"It's gone," Rinoa said, smiling in relief.

"Are you sure?" Seifer asked.

Before Rinoa could reply, her knees collapsed. She would have landed in a heap if Squall weren't quick to snatch her. A flurry of concerned words washed over her. She felt the world tip as strong arms picked her up.

"Set her on the table," Kadowaki instructed.

"Just tired," Rinoa mumbled, her eyes too heavy to remain open. She tried to wave them off, but her arm wouldn't lift.

While Kadowaki examined Rinoa, Odine directed Squall and Seifer away from the table. He had them stand apart and turned the scanner on.

The scanner remained silent as Odine passed it over Squall. "Not even a blip," he said, sounding disappointed.

Seifer eyed the scanner as he would an enemy, vowing dismemberment if the overqualified TV remote gave him bad news. He balled his fists as Odine scanned him. He wasn't sure of the scanner remained silent or if the sound of his frantic thoughts had drowned the noise out. Odine scanned again for good measure and the softened line of Leonhart's mouth told him all he needed to know.

"That's it, then," Odine said, lowering the scanner. "You'll need to return every week as a precaution"

The moment of truth was anti-climactic. Seifer had expected something more, a spectacle of sparks and wind, maybe even streamers and confetti. Heartily had closed her eyes for a few minutes and then declared the spell gone. He wasn't entirely sure the whole thing hadn't been some elaborate trick. Leonhart seemed to think the same, glancing between him and Heartily in search of confirmation. In their experience, a battle won too easily was usually a trap.

Rinoa sat up and handed the used phoenix down feather back to Kadowaki. "Thanks, that helped."

"You should rest." Kadowaki checked the younger woman's vitals, satisfied but cautious.

"I'm fine, really. I'm not used to using my powers. Even simple spells take a lot out of me."

Squall joined Rinoa and pulled her into a hug. "Thank you."

Rinoa hadn't felt like crying until Squall's arms were around her. The tears came without warning, either from relief or the shock of having Squall hug her, she wasn't sure. "It's really gone this time. I'm sure of it."

"I believe you."

"I'm sorry it came back."

"It wasn't your fault."

"I can't stop thinking about last time." Rinoa's chest heaved, struggling for air between sobs. "You were just lying there. I wasn't sure I could bring you back."

"You did."

"But what if I hadn't? Hyne, Squall, what if I'd failed?" Rinoa clung to Squall, hating him a little for making her love him so much.

"It doesn't matter now."

"No," Rinoa agreed, forehead tucked under Squall's chin.

Seifer took pity on Heartily, knowing how haunted he'd feel if Leonhart were killed. He ruffled her hair, making a mess of it until she jerked back and swatted his hand away.

"Seifer!" Rinoa carded her hands through her hair, combing it back into order. She glared at the blond brute, though it lacked conviction.

"You're still the same," Seifer said. "You cry at the drop of a hat."

Rinoa couldn't help but laugh. Seifer reached for her hair again and she ducked away. "And you're still a bully," she said, laughing again.

Seifer shrugged. "Some things never change."

Rinoa cast a pointed look between the two rivals. "Some things do."

Licking his lips nervously, Squall studied Seifer for some indication that his feelings had changed. He asked himself if he still wanted to kiss the man in front of him, have him in his bed, sip coffee and steal glances at him over the breakfast table. The thought of losing Seifer from his life left him struggling to breathe.

"Do you feel different?" Seifer asked, his expression guarded against potential heartbreak.

Squall shook his head.

Seifer released a shaky breath. "Thank Hyne."

Before Squall and Seifer could do more than share a brief kiss, Odine opened the door and let the others swarm into the room.

"You're okay, right?" Lore nearly lifted his father off the ground as he hugged him. Eventually, he let go and turned to Seifer. "What about you?" He tried to make it sound like an afterthought.

Seifer wrapped an arm around Leonhart's shoulders. "Worried about me, were you?" he asked, his grin daring the boy to try covering it up.

"No," Lore lied. When Seifer laughed at him, he rolled his eyes. "I hoped being an asshole was a side effect of the spell."

Seifer laughed harder.

"Let's get aboveground," Laguna suggested, already missing sunlight.

The walk to the lift seemed shorter. Selphie could hardly keep from skipping.

When the lift was in sight, Selphie turned around and kept pace while walking backwards. "We should do something to celebrate."

A celebration piqued Lore's interest. "Like what?"

"A night out on the town. I heard of a new restaurant in District Eight that's supposed to be crazy good. Or we could keep it casual and go for pizza."

"Not tonight," Squall said. He gave Selphie an apologetic smile.

"Come on, you never want to go out."

Irvine was reluctant to disagree with his wife, but he knew that Squall wasn't feeling the same relief as the rest of them. "Darlin', I think a quiet night in is for the best. We can have the palace chefs cook up whatever your little heart desires."

"Is this about people finding out you were here?" Selphie asked.

Squall boarded the lift without answering. He didn't need to.

On the platform beside Leonhart, Seifer leaned in and said, "Am I the only one missing something here?"

"We'll talk topside," Squall said as lift began its ascent, the movement felt in the pit of his stomach. The futility of trying to hide his condition struck Squall in that moment. D-District prison had also been underground, but everything surfaced eventually.

"You okay?" Lore searched his father's face for signs of distress, but he appeared as calm as ever.

"I'm fine." Squall gently cuffed Lore's ear. The gesture told the boy to stop asking the same question and assured him he'd been truthful in his answer.

Outside the laboratory, the heat made the air ripple and heavy in Squall's lungs. The sun hung low, but it wasn't quite dusk. Beneath the outcropping of the roof over the entrance, the group took a moment to digest the good news. They also reflected on the inevitable fallout from Squall's appointment.

Unbuttoning the collar of his dress shirt, Seifer drank in the sun. Unless Leonhart included him in the fold of understanding, he wanted the cryptic bullshit to stop. "I don't like being the odd man out."

"You're not," Lore said. "I'm lost, too."

It was hardly a secret, so Squall explained, "My being here will reach the press."

Seifer still felt like he was missing something. "Why is it newsworthy?"

"Because of you," Irvine said. "The para-magic is old news. A few hackney writers will do mockups about whether he's pregnant again, or just rehash what happened after the war, but the real story will be you."

Seifer cursed when he realized the potential backlash that his name in the headlines would have. Most of the world thought he was dead. Over the years there were only a handful of people who'd connected him to Ultimecia. For most of them the war was over with and there was no sense in reopening old wounds, but he anticipated the wildfire that could spread if grudge holding veterans caught wind of his name. It would be bad for business and his training center had just gotten off the ground.

Irvine continued, "They'll dig into how you came back, if you're up to no good. You were lucky no one really took notice before now." Tipping his hat back, he smiled. "I can't say how newsworthy your return will be, but your relationship with Squall will definitely make the front pages."

Squall brushed his fingers over Seifer's arm to draw his attention. "Are you okay with that?"

"You mean, am I gonna be on the next train to FH because I don't want to be called gay?" He wasn't exactly thrilled with the prospect of having the public eye catch him in bed with another man, but being gay wasn't what was bad for business, not in Esthar where the latest trend was androgyny and chicks with dicks. His track record of partners was a long line of women hotter than most men could dream of and he doubted the most devout heterosexual could keep from checking out Leonhart's ass twice. The bigger issue for him would be his history as a defected soldier and sorceress's knight.

"It doesn't matter in Esthar," Squall said. Homosexuality was a sensitive issue for some people, negligible for others. It reminded him of the unprecedented shift in Seifer's orientation. He was never sure if he should feel flattered that Seifer found him desirable enough as a person to disregard his gender or worried that it was a fluke.

Irvine was more than happy to test Seifer's resolve. "Esthar is the minority. Not everyone takes kindly to a man not being with a woman." In a more sedate tone, he added, "They were vicious before."

"The first dickwad to say a word against me and mine is getting a fist shoved so far down his throat-"

"Seifer," Squall interrupted.

"I'm with Seifer," Lore said, raising his hand as if in class. "I couldn't exactly defend you last time, being a fetus and all."

Head bowed, Squall pinched the bridge of his nose and prayed for patience.

The sun drew their shadows long and thin. Squall studied his own gawky limbed shape, flat and still against the dusty ground. Seifer edged closer until their shaded forms joined and he felt the press of an arm against his. The heat sweltered, but he leaned into the contact anyway.

As a general rule of thumb, Squall avoided the media. He wasn't good with public speaking and held no love for sensational headlines. Seifer had enough charisma to charm a rock, but he also had a temper that would ignite suspicion as to whether he could be trusted. He could already see the headlines accusing Seifer of treason and demanding trial. There was no statute of limitations when it made for good readership.

Ever the optimist, Selphie insisted, "It won't be the same as before." She made a waving gesture toward Squall's stomach. "You're not, you know, in the family way."

"Galbadia will be an issue," Irvine said. "They were the worst last time, and Balamb didn't exactly show loyalty."

Seifer studied Leonhart's solemn profile and recalled Kadowaki once telling him that Leonhart had fallen from grace after the war. He'd never asked for the details.

Laguna set a supportive hand on Squall's shoulder. "Lay low at the palace. No one can bother you there."

Squall was inclined to agree with his father, but this wasn't a decision he could make alone. There were Seifer and Lore to consider. He looked to Seifer, nudging his arm to draw his attention.

"I'm not hiding," Seifer said, adopting his take no prisoners smile, "and I don't play nice."

Irvine rolled his eyes. "You can't assault everyone who has something bad to say about you. If that were the case, you'd have people right in front of you to contend with."

"Don't start that up again, Kinneas. We both know how it ended last time."

"How what ended?" Selphie asked.

"Nothing important, darlin'." Irvine knew his little lady wouldn't let it go so easily. He'd have to answer later.

It was Seifer's turn to roll his eyes. "Keeping low is fine," he said, taking into consideration that Leonhart might want to hunker down and wait out the storm, "but no one's put anything to print yet. If we make the first move, it sends a message."

Selphie beamed at the ex-knight. "I like the way you think."

"I'm more than a pair of pretty eyes," Seifer said, returning the tiny woman's smile. "I have a few PR connections after promoting my training center, but Leonhart's Daddy Moneybags will have the names of the major league players." He spared the president a quick glance and found the man eyeing him in sharp calculation. "Tactically speaking, I always prefer to play offense. We can answer questions on our terms."

Selphie rocked on her feet, barely controlling the urge to hop. "If the first stories to break have a positive tone, it could set the trend."

Compelled to point out that the situation would have some fallout no matter how they played it, Seifer said, "The most an initial interview would do is get the truth out there. The dirt will come after, but at least we won't have to play defense all the time."

With the options laid out, all eyes turned to Squall.

There was only one response Squall could think to give. "I'm with Seifer."

"Of course you are," Seifer said, throwing Kinneas a look of triumph.

Irvine would have argued out of spite, but he wasn't that petty. Seifer's proposal could work in their favor. Sixteen years ago, Squall had waited too long to go public with the pregnancy. Timing had been everything back then. Too soon after the war meant the world's fear of one sorceress hadn't even settled before rumors spread that Squall would sire the next one.

The desert's heat settled in and the air refused to muster even a small breeze. Laguna suggested they return to the palace before they all passed out from sunstroke.

While walking to the parking lot, Seifer dropped back and motioned for Lore to follow.

"What's up?" Lore asked, easily matching Seifer's pace.

Seifer waved Leonhart on ahead. "Give us a second."

Lore suddenly remembered the conversation they'd had on the way to the lab. "You're not leaving, are you?"

"I'm not that easy to shake," Seifer assured. "I wanted to ask you to ride with Loire or squeeze in with Kinneas. I need to talk with your dad."

"Talk about what?"

"That doesn't concern you."

"If it has to do with my dad, then it's my business."

"I'm starting to believe that. Leonhart really should have come with a warning label."

Lore couldn't help but laugh. "I'll do it on one condition."

"This should be good." Seifer made a gesture for the boy to speak.

Lore stopped walking. "Don't ever hurt him." His aunts and uncles, and most especially his father, tried to keep him from knowing too much about his birth. He'd done his own research and found his own answers. Enough people had been cruel to his father already. That was why Uncle Irvine always overreacted. Lore made it his business to stick his nose where it didn't belong because when it came down to percentages, ninety-eight percent of the world had been against his father and it was difficult to believe anyone had the man's best interest at heart.

Several paces ahead, Seifer turned around and considered the kid for a long moment. "I won't."

Somewhere along the way Lore had started to trust Seifer's intentions for his father. Obtaining a promise from the man wasn't a relief when he already believed him to be a safe bet.

Lore jogged ahead to join his grandfather. He wouldn't be able to talk with his uncle without feeling guilty, like he'd betrayed the cause to oust Seifer from their lives.

Seifer smiled after the boy, wondering at the tentative relationship they'd established.

TBC…

Author's note:

Please review. I've said it before and I'll say it again, every time you read story and fail to review, a faerie dies. True facts, people. Save the faeries!


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